Griffin's Eleven
by Satine89
Summary: Peter, recently out of jail and divorced from Lois, wants to win his ex-wife back from a casino mogul. Robbing his casino might not be the best way to do that, but with Brian, Quagmire, Cleveland and a host of others behind him, it just might work!
1. Prologue

**Griffin's Eleven**

**A Short Prologue on How Peter Griffin Lost Everything**

Public drunkenness was a bit of a hobby for Peter Griffin. His best friend, his talking dog Brian, knew that only too well, usually electing to take the stupid man home, despite the fact that he was often as sloshed as Peter was.

However, this day was different. Not only were both Peter and Brian completely wasted, but they had broken their silent vow to not interact with any women at the bar. Brian started it: he sidled up to a younger woman that often babysat for the Griffins, Cassandra Buchem. Cassandra, as Brian knew when he was sober, was far from interested in men, especially since a rather sticky situation where she ended up brainwashed into falling in love with the neighborhood pervert, Glen Quagmire. So Cassie didn't really appreciate Brian hitting on her. She also didn't appreciate him buying her a drink, seeing as she was only seventeen. Cassie ended up dumping her drink on, which would have ended the altercation if Peter hadn't been drunk as well.

Peter punched Cassie, and tried to fight her. Cassie, terrified, called the police. In the end, Peter was sentenced to four years in jail for battery, aggravated assault, and abuse to a minor. Due to good behavior in jail, his sentence was halved.

And although there's a hilarious story involving Peter Griffin's stay in jail, now is not the right time to tell it. One day I'll probably get around to it. This story is about something entirely different.

…But seriously, it was hysterical, what happened in jail. Peter decided that he was going to create a musical, to keep up morale amongst the rapists and stuff…

Damn it, I STILL told the stupid story! Ugh… Okay. Seriously, guys, this story is about how Peter Griffin managed to best one of the most powerful people on the eastern seaboard.

It all started right after Peter was released from jail…

A/N: Before you go, 'that's IT?!', notice that the real first chapter's been posted. Continue on, brave soldier.


	2. Brian and Peter

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand 1: Brian and Peter**

Peter hadn't expected to see anyone waiting for him as he got out of prison. After all, if the letters he'd gotten in prison were any indication, most of his friends had sided with Cassie and her family, and one of them – Quagmire – had moved out of Rhode Island for reasons Peter couldn't quite understand.

But, Peter realized, he had forgotten about Brian.

"Brian!" Peter called out, grabbing his dog and hugging him forcefully.

"Okay, okay, Peter, PETER, LET ME GO," Brian demanded. Peter did as told.

Brian wasn't a very conspicuous dog: he was white, with a red collar and a medium-sized snout. But his speech capabilities were marvelous, and his patience levels were extremely high. (Exhibit A: Peter in his orange jumpsuit.)

"Ah, crap, Brian," Peter murmured. "I'm on parole."

"I know that," Brian responded. The two walked out into the jail's parking lot and towards Brian's Prius. "It's, uh… actually, a lot of things have changed, Peter."

"You're telling me," Peter muttered. "Did she tell you about -?"

"The divorce, yeah," Brian finished off. He unlocked his energy-saving car, jumping into the driver's seat. "She kicked me out, too. Lois thought I should have been arrested, not you." Brian sighed as he turned on the ignition. "And Quagmire's moved. So has Cassie…"

"Together?" Peter said incredulously. Brian pulled out into the street.

"No," Brian shook his head. "They hate each other. They just moved away."

"So they're staying at the same place?" Peter questioned.

"No, Peter, they've just left the state," Brian explained again.

"With each other?"

"NO, NOT WITH EACH OTHER." Brian sighed as he changed lanes. "They're not together, Peter. Quagmire moved to the state line, and Cassie's in Boston now."

"Oh. Why didn't you say they weren't together?" Peter wondered.

"I – never mind," Brian muttered.

The two of them sat in relative silence for a time.

"I don't understand, Brian," Peter finally murmured. "Why would Lois want to get divorced?"

"Something to do with money, if I remember correctly," Brian responded, trying his best to remain emotionless. "…Most of our friends have forgiven you, though. Cassie forgave you from the start. She knew that we were drunk… she just got scared."

"God." Peter twiddled his thumbs. "This is worse than the time I –"

"No flashbacks while I'm driving," Brian requested. "They've actually made it illegal. Paris Hilton got pulled over for having a flashback to when people actually cared about her."

"Wow, people actually don't care about Paris Hilton?" Peter marveled. "The world is a different place."

"Yes. The fact that you're gauging Paris Hilton's fall from tabloid life as more important than you losing your wife says a lot, by the way," Brian noted dryly.

Peter shook his head, eyes narrowed. "Who said that Paris Hilton is more important than Lois?! I need to get her back, Brian!"

Brian missed his exit. Cursing loudly, Brian pulled into a center lane. "Look, Peter, getting Lois back is going to take time. She remained faithful to you for a year or so, but then the money ran tight, and she needed a way to support your kids."

"Where are my kids now?" Peter wondered.

"Chris and Meg are on vacation, visiting the Pewterschmidts," Brian explained, "and Stewie is with Lois, as always."

"But where's Lois?" Peter asked desperately. "Brian, I can't keep screwing up this badly! This is worse than the time I operated on that pregnant girl while I was drunk!"

"That wasn't you, that was Jack's dad on _Lost_," Brian corrected him.

"What about the time I beat up Draco Malfoy after the Quidditch match?"

"That was Harry Potter and Fred and George Weasley in _The Order of the Phoenix_."

"The time I broke up with Effie White?"

"That was Curtis Taylor Junior. You never did any of those things. And you never broke a vase belonging to a wealthy group of high school boys with boatloads of free time, either. I know you too well, Peter."

Peter paused.

"What about the time I got pulled over for driving while distracted?"

_A police officer drove up next to Peter's car. Peter, putting on his pants and brushing his hair while driving, looked over and scowled._

_"Ah, come ON!" Peter yelled as he pulled over to the side of the road._

"What did I say about flashbacks?!" Brian demanded to know. But before long, Brian was laughing. "Yeah, that was pretty dumb…"

"When did we get into the left lane?" Peter inquired.

Brian gasped and swerved back into the center lane. A few people honked at him for his rash judgment. Brian flipped them off.

"Pricks," Brian muttered angrily before turning back to Peter. "You know, there's a great casino a few miles from here. Wanna play some cards?"

"I'm supposed to stay in the state," Peter explained. "If I don't, I'll break parole, and the feds will come –"

"We're already in Massachusetts; it's a little late for that," Brian laughed. "Come on, I think there are some people there that'll want to see you…"

tTtTt

"Oh come on, baby…"

"We have nothing in common, we never had anything in common, and I still refuse your advances."

"But what about what happened two years ago?"

"I was out of my mind. It happens sometimes."

A buxom drink server, with short black hair and stunning opal eyes, walked away from Glen Quagmire angrily, so unnerved that her drink tray was shaking slightly. Glen snickered through his nose, returning to his blackjack hand.

The dealer, a black man with a mustache and a steady hand, shook his head. "Every day you ask her, and every day her insults get worse."

"And she expects that to stop me?" Quagmire countered lightly. "Jesus, you've known me for how long?"

"Well, you know my real name, so…" the dealer said slowly, flipping up his cards. "Twenty. You have… nineteen. Dealer takes."

"Damn," Quagmire muttered, pushing his chips towards the dealer. "Why is she so stubborn?"

"She's nineteen years old," the dealer responded. "I still think that makes you a voyeur."

"She's legal," Quagmire counteracted. He leaned back in his chair as the dealer dealt another hand. The casino was a place of grandeur, no doubt about it. It was an Indian casino, to be sure, but the place was outfitted like the great old hotels of Las Vegas. The rich red plush carpet, the golden raised ceiling, the beautiful drink servers… Quagmire smiled inwardly.

Two people sat down next to Quagmire. Quagmire didn't even glance at them; he already knew who it was.

"What do you think of this place, Peter?" Quagmire asked, now glancing about the slot machines. Thousands of the box-like objects were lined up in small clusters all over the floor. The tables were interspersed between different sets of slot machines, or, in the case of the blackjack table, next to dining tables and small bars.

Peter and Brian looked over to the man next to them. "Quagmire?"

"Yep," Quagmire nodded. "Nice place, isn't it?"

"You own it?" Peter cried out incredulously.

Quagmire's features flashed annoyance for a few seconds. "No. No, I'm just a high roller."

Brian leaned over to talk to Quagmire. "So, how's it going with the girl?"

"She said no again," Quagmire responded. "But – but I'll get her. Eventually."

"You've said that every day for a year," the dealer reminded Glen with a sly smile. Peter looked up and gasped happily.

"Cleveland!" Peter gleefully grinned. The dealer blinked.

"You must have me confused with someone else, sir," the dealer stated coldly. "My name –" the dealer gestured to his nametag – "is Frank."

"Hello, Frank," Brian waved. "Quagmire… I cannot believe you're hitting on a girl nearly thirty years younger than you."

"That's what I said." The buxom drink girl was back.

Peter turned and beamed. "Cassie!"

Cassie held a silver tray in one hand, putting the other on her hip. Her smile was a warm one, despite the fact that the last time she saw Peter, he clocked her. Her bangs were long gone, and she had grown into a beautiful, shapely woman.

"Hey, Peter! Long time no see! Out of the joint finally! And Brian's here, too… cool…" Cassie laughed. "Can I get you anything?"

"Dry martini," Brian called out. "Put Peter's on my tab."

"I'd like a Pawtucket Patriot," Peter nodded.

"Thanks for the offer, Cassandra, but I can't drink on duty," Frank explained.

"I –" Quagmire began.

"I know what you want, you heartless pervert," Cassie sneered. Her expression changed back to one of jubilation. "I'll be back."

Frank dealt out a new hand of blackjack. "You know, my shift is almost over, and I like to go down to the local club for a drink. Maybe you three should come along."

Quagmire glanced down at his hand. Eighteen. "I can't even buy a drink here anymore. Why not?"

"…Sure," Brian mused. He knew that the dealer was Cleveland; it was blatantly obvious. But he couldn't understand why he'd lie about his name. "Hit me."

"All right," Peter nodded, confident with his twenty.

Cleveland revealed his cards. "Twenty-one."

Quagmire smirked as Cassie came back with the drinks. In order to give Brian his martini, she had to lean over Quagmire in a somewhat suggestive manner.

"Just like Vegas," Quagmire smiled.

A/N: Okay, NOW you have a better idea of what this story's gonna be like. I wanted to do something totally slick, but at the same time, funny and ridiculous – like _The Silent Game_, only better. (Admittedly, _The Silent Game _will be hard to top…)

A/N 2: Some of you may remember that I said my next story would be called _Road to Mexico_. However, I realized that that story was… terrible. Just terrible. You guys would have hated me for life. So I got out of Family Guy for some time, and hit on this idea, which I actually enjoy writing. I hope you like it as much as I like it.

A/N 3: If you don't know who Cassandra Buchem is: her introductory story is _The Chocolate Girl_, and she features prominently in _The Silent Game_. (SHAMELESS PLUG ALERT!) Basically, in those stories, she's a schoolgirl with a razor-sharp wit and an unadulterated hatred for Quagmire… something that carries over to this tale as well.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy, I don't write for Family Guy (someone actually asked me that), and I'm pretty sure I never worked for Family Guy in a past life. (looks around nervously) …Right?


	3. Last I Checked

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #2: Plans, Last I Checked, Usually Don't Involve Drunks, Lechers, and Dogs**

The local club turned out to be a strip bar. Brian watched the girls in the glass cases with a weird frown, deeply uncomfortable. The noise in the place was making his ears ring painfully. He downed a shot of whiskey before turning to the bartender.

"Any way to turn down the noise?" Brian yelled.

The bartender just smiled vacantly at him. Brian sighed.

"Useless idiot," Brian spat under his breath. Before long, Quagmire had taken the seat next to him.

"Frank is getting us a table in the basement," Quagmire shouted at him.

"What?"

"TABLE! IN THE BASEMENT!" Quagmire repeated even louder than before.

"…Where's Peter?!" Brian asked stridently.

"With Frank!" Quagmire responded. "Barkeep! I need a Bloody Mary, stat!"

"I don't have Larry's hat!" the bartender yelled back.

"BLOODY MARY!" Quagmire demanded. The barkeep suddenly understood, murmuring his apologies. Quagmire sighed loudly.

"Cassie hates me, doesn't she?" Quagmire mused.

"Naw," Brian replied sarcastically. "Really?"

Quagmire wasn't amused. "How did you end up dating her, anyway?"

"We were only together for two weeks!" Brian barked defensively. "We were already friends, but we tried dating and it didn't work! How many times do I have to tell you this?!"

Quagmire yanked his drink off of the table and drained it eagerly. Brian rolled his eyes at Quagmire's apparent self-destruction, choosing to slowly drink his second shot. Without warning, Quagmire smacked Brian in the back of the head.

"What the hell was that for?" Brian asked angrily.

"Her!" Quagmire responded. "You slept with her, didn't you?!"

"I'm not you," Brian retorted angrily.

Quagmire wasn't buying it. "Gotta be demoralizing, if you get dumped for being a lousy fuck."

Brian stared at him. "…Oh my God!"

"Yeah, that covers it," Quagmire murmured, snapping off a piece of the celery stick in his drink and popping it into his mouth. Brian just rolled his eyes angrily before burying his ears in his hands, trying to block the noise

"This is the longest night of my life," the bartender admitted, sympathizing with Brian.

"What?"

The bartender looked heavenward. "I'm running away with your wife!"

"Ah," Brian nodded. The bartender sighed, returning to the Grey Goose and the Jack Daniels.

gGgGg

Brian and Quagmire were tremendously relieved to be sitting at a table, shielded from the bombastic noise of the floor above. A multitude of poker tournaments were being played at the nearby tables by rough-looking folk and some recognizably famous people. Peter observed the dank surroundings – concrete walls, mining lights, and the perpetual haze of cigarette smoke made up the décor.

"Okay, Peter, you caught me," Frank said blankly. "I am Cleveland. How are you?"

"I'm great, thanks," Peter snapped sarcastically. "I mean, my wife left me, my kids are gone, and I've already broken parole."

"And it was kind of obvious that you were lying about who you were. No offense," Brian murmured, sipping his whiskey.

"Guys…" Peter began, folding his hands on the table. "Guys, I need your help. Badly. I want Lois back."

Cleveland shrugged, lighting up a cigar. "Well, that's understandable."

"That's going to be hard, though," Quagmire frowned. "She's dating some guy…"

He was clearly hedging. Brian eyed him curiously. Peter was on the edge of his seat.

"Who? Who is she dating?" Peter inquired.

Quagmire remained tight-lipped, deeply embarrassed for even bringing the subject up. Brian punched him.

"What was that for?!" Quagmire asked.

"Revenge," Brian responded. "Now tell us… who's Lois going out with?"

Quagmire got back into his chair. His legs knocked together as he stood up uneasily. He looked to the vengeful Brian, then to the curious Cleveland, and finally to the sickened Peter. Quagmire sighed. It was for a friend, after all…

"I see a lot of things in that casino we were at," Quagmire began. "I know every woman in that place –"

" –so you basically know everybody there," Brian finished.

"Yeah." Quagmire paused. "And because I'm one of the high rollers at the casino, I also know the owner of the place. Leonard Cornfeathers. Craziest weirdo I've ever known, but he has a lot of money. Lois' parents introduced the two of them, so now…" Quagmire cut off. "Now, yeah, so Leonard Cornfeathers, casino mogul, and Lois Pewterschmidt are together…"

There was a protracted silence at the table. Cleveland's smoke partially obscured his friends' faces. Brian tried to read Peter's face, but he was remaining extremely blank. Quagmire's attention had been diverted to an argument at a Texas Hold 'Em table.

"Peter…" Brian began.

"…Cornfeathers. Is he rich?" Peter asked.

"Duh," Quagmire responded blithely. "He owns about four Indian casinos on the east coast, not to mention the number of security measures and devices he's patented and sold to other casinos… face it, Peter, the guy's got you beat in the reliability department."

"But what if he suddenly becomes unreliable?" Peter questioned with a smile.

Cleveland stamped out his cigar. "What are you suggesting?"

"We rob his casino," Peter proposed in a deceptively cool manner.

The reaction was immediate. Quagmire's chair vaulted out from behind him; Brian choked on his drink; Cleveland's eyes widened precipitously.

"Peter, you've GOT to be kidding," Brian blurted out.

"You can't get your wife back like that, I don't think," Cleveland murmured.

"Not to mention that this casino you're planning to rob – the Grand Cherokee - has the most advanced security system this side of the White House," Quagmire breathed quietly. "He's got dogs, he's got guards, he's got lasers – everything."

Peter shrugged. "If I can prove to Lois that I'm reliable, I'll be able to win her back."

"Robbing a casino doesn't make you reliable," Brian commented drolly. "It makes you a fugitive. And the whole idea is idiotic. So you're an idiotic fugitive."

"They'll be calling you a radical," Cleveland shook his head sadly.

"A liberal," Quagmire rolled his eyes, lighting up a cigarette.

"A fanatical criminal," Brian clarified.

Peter seemed unperturbed. "I think we can do it. Remember when I stole the Declaration of Independence?"

_Benjamin Gates and Peter Griffin sped down the corridor of the Smithsonian museum. Gates didn't even have time to extract the Declaration of Independence from its heavy, bullet-proof glass casing. Peter breathed heavily._

_"Ian's tailing us!" Peter screamed. The telltale bang of guns being fired echoed behind them._

_Without warning, Gates threw Peter in front of the Declaration. The bullets bounced off of his body as the two of them maneuvered into the elevator nearby._

_As soon as the doors closed, Gates looked up at Peter. "How did you do that?"_

_"I'm Chiyo-chan's dad," Peter grinned widely, helping Gates take the Declaration out of its heavy casing._

"Yeah. And then you fell out of the car when Ian started chasing you," Brian recalled. "Face it, Peter, you're no good."

"If we want to pull this off, we're gonna need people as brain-dead as you are," Quagmire remarked, almost as an aside. He ignored Brian's pressing glare. "So Cleveland's in."

Cleveland missed the jab. "So, if we assume all four of us are in, we're still going to need at least seven more people."

Brian stared at them, mouth agape. "You three can't REALLY, HONESTLY think of going through with this."

Quagmire, Peter, and Cleveland stared at Brian.

"Didn't Leonard take Lois from you, too?" Quagmire finally murmured.

Brian couldn't respond to that. His face flushed as he drained his drink blankly.

"…That he did," Brian finally said. Quagmire smirked.

"Well, if we want some crazies, we don't have to look far," Quagmire noted. "If we go back to Quahog, Rhode Island, we'll find everyone we need."

A/N: This is the first time I've used the f-word uncensored in any story, but the grittier nature of this story kind of required it. At least, that's how I saw it.

A/N 2: Thank you, everyone, for being patient with me – this story is very hard to write, because there are so many little things I want to weave in. I just finished chapter three, which won't be up for a while because the editing process is a bitch, every time.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy! pulls out party crackers Let's celebrate my uselessness!


	4. The Griffin Children

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #3: The Griffin Children**

Lois glared at Brian, all the rage she could muster etched onto her face. "What do YOU want?"

Brian knew that visiting the house was a bad idea, but Quagmire insisted that Brian handle this part of the job. He would have snorted, but Quagmire could be really… disagreeable… if he wanted to be.

_"I'm not gonna say it again…"_

_Quagmire glared at the Wildcats basketball team. All of the boys were nervously staring at the walls, the ceiling, each other, and at his shoes. Quagmire threw his clipboard onto the ground._

_"WHERE'S TROY AND CHAD?!"_

_"…in the closet…" one of them replied._

_Quagmire stared the kid down. "What the hell did you just say, Jason?"_

_"In the closet," the boy said again. "But don't tell the film crew… they still think that Troy likes Gabriella…"_

_"I thought Ryan was the gay one," another member of the team piped up._

_"No, he's doing his sister," Quagmire responded. "Saw that yesterday. Ugh, that girl has NO FIGURE."_

_"Tell me about it," Jason muttered. "But I thought that Sharpay was trying to get Troy…"_

_"Sharpay's a whore," a black guy on the team muttered. "She was with Chad last week."_

_"But I thought Chad was with Troy, Zeke," Jason mused. "And just because Ryan did Sharpay doesn't mean they're in love with each other."_

_"I'm pretty sure Ryan's in love with Gabriella," Zeke called._

_"It's too bad that Gabriella's trying to get Troy," Quagmire shrugged, "all things considering. I mean, I heard that Ryan was Troy's gay lover…"_

_"No, it's Chad, we've already said that!"_

_Troy and Chad couldn't bring themselves to speak up. They'd been sitting on the bleachers the entire time._

"…I wanted to see Stewie," Brian told her. It was true.

Lois gave him a reproachful glare. "I know Peter's supposed to be out of jail. How do I know you're not going to -?"

"Lois, please." Brian was ready to get down on his hands and knees. "I want to see him, Lois, I really do."

"Look, I kicked you out for a reason," Lois frowned. "I'm not going to get back together with Peter, and if you try to get Stewie to get me to get back –"

"BRIAN!" Stewie called from the living room. "You're still ALIVE?!"

"Hello Stewie," Brian groaned. He had grown to relish the freedom that being away from Stewie had given him, but now all of those wonderful (read: horrific) memories of years past were flooding back.

Lois sighed. "…Okay. Ten minutes."

Brian nodded and walked into the living room, where Stewie was creating a model of Big Ben with cardboard, Play-Doh, and Lois' shirts. Stewie, despite being three years old, hadn't changed at all, except for the fact that he'd gotten taller. Brian couldn't believe how little he seemed now.

It was nostalgia, Brian told himself. Once upon a time, Stewie had been the closest thing Brian had to a brother. But that was long ago.

"How are you?" Brian inquired.

Stewie glared at Brian. "I know you're here for a reason, Brian. You wouldn't dare come for a friendly chat. What's going on?"

"Perceptive as ever," Brian frowned.

"Idiotic as ever," Stewie retorted. "It's something to do with the fat man, isn't it? What is that retard planning?"

"He wants to rob a casino. You're either in or out," Brian said quickly, so as not to distract Lois from her vegetable chopping.

"Which casino did the genius decide to rob?" Stewie wondered, intrigued.

"The Grand Cherokee," Brian responded.

Stewie let one of Lois' tank tops fall off of his model and land at his feet. A wicked grin grew on his infantile features.

"That's Cornfeathers' casino," Stewie recalled.

"Peter has this crazy idea that robbing him will help him win Lois back…"

Stewie cackled. "Well, I damn well hope it works. I can't stand that man."

Brian was taking aback. Back in the good old days, Stewie would have cursed Peter's stupidity.

"Desperate times?" Brian questioned.

"I miss you," Stewie said point-blank. "It's not even fun to mock Meg anymore. Not since she got that job at the casino with Cassandra." Stewie eyed Brian. "Don't tell me she's in on this."

"She won't go near Quagmire," Brian assured him.

Stewie snorted. Brian raised an eyebrow.

"And that's funny because…?"

Stewie gave Brian an all-knowing grin. "Something tells me she's lying." Stewie dropped the subject. "So, when do we get to screw Cornfeathers over?"

eEeEe

"You keep coming. Why?"

Cassie slammed her palms onto the top of the bar she stood behind, face red with anger. Quagmire's presence was enough to do that to her.

Quagmire, for once, wasn't interested in her. "…I'm waiting for someone to start their shift. I need to talk to Meg."

"Oh, so you just move on to the next girl, then?" Cassie frowned.

Quagmire grinned ravenously. "You sound jealous."

"I – No!" Cassie was even redder now. She threw a towel over her shoulder in a huff and strode away, muttering curses and admonishments underneath her breath. Megan Griffin, still ugly as sin and still wearing her pink condom hat, walked past her, but, noting the look of pure venom on her face, decided not to say anything. Meg took up bar duty, noticing Quagmire sitting at a stool.

"How are you, Mr. Quagmire?" Meg asked cheerfully.

Quagmire smiled. Mr. Quagmire. THAT never got old, either.

"I was good until Cassie flew off the handle," Quagmire admitted.

Meg rolled her eyes. "The only way you're ever going to get her is if she's drugged." Meg got a strange glint in her eye. "You want me to do that for you -?"

"No, no no no," Quagmire said quickly. "NOT a good idea." Quagmire cleared his throat. "Actually, Meg… I'm here to talk to you."

"I'm sorry," Meg immediately responded, "but I've always seen you as a father figure…"

"What is WRONG with you today?" Quagmire asked loudly before calming himself. "…No, Meg, I need – no. Peter needs your help."

"Dad?" Meg adjusted her glasses. "…He got out?"

"Yeah," Quagmire nodded, "and he wants Lois back."

"Good for him," Meg spat, wiping some dust off of the bar. "But I don't care."

"Thought you'd say that," Quagmire admitted, propping his foot against the bar. "But the thing is, he wants to break up Lois and Mr. Cornfeathers."

"My mom won't leave Leonard," Meg reiterated angrily, "especially not for him. For the first time in our lives, we're completely stable. We don't have to worry about money anymore."

"…So why do you work?"

Meg stopped wiping the countertops. Quagmire stood up and started to walk towards a table. Meg stared at the back of his head for a long time, thinking the question over in her head.

Quagmire sat down at a blackjack table, where a fey-looking teenager was presiding. The blonde boy smiled warmly at Quagmire before sticking his cards in the shuffler.

"How are you today, sir?" the boy asked.

Quagmire read his name tag in a bored manner. "Eh… I could be better, Ryan. How 'bout you?"

"Pretty good. You see that girl over there, sir?" Ryan pointed to a black-haired girl maybe ten feet away. Quagmire immediately recognized her – Cassandra Buchem.

"Yeah," Quagmire responded, already envious. "What about her?"

"Today, I'll make her my girlfriend," Ryan cooed happily. Quagmire took out his anger on some chips, thrusting them forward. Ryan remained oblivious. "She's pretty, no?"

"I've known that since she was sixteen," Quagmire muttered under his breath.

Ryan, however, wasn't as dense as Quagmire thought. "What did you just say?"

"She's hot, yes," Quagmire muttered, "but how long have you known her?"

"…About six weeks," Ryan admitted. But his face, like Quagmire's, was darkening with untold irritation. "How long have you known her… sir?" The last word was laced with ire.

Quagmire grinned wickedly. "Three and a half years. And she won't go out with some gay-looking mama's boy, let me assure you."

"I doubt she's after a deviant ladies' man, either," Ryan retorted, flipping his cards over. "Pay twenty."

Ryan put some chips in front of Quagmire. The two of them were glaring at each other heatedly.

Just then, Cassandra walked over to Ryan. "Ryan, some black-haired Mafioso-type lady wants to talk to you at the front desk." Cassie looked to Quagmire. "…Nice to know you two have met each other." Cassie glared at Ryan. "Don't get it into your head that you're going to date me. Either of you… although date seems like a rather lax term for you, Quagmire."

Cassie strode off. Ryan bit his lip.

"So she really likes you," Quagmire laughed maliciously. Ryan said nothing – Meg was coming over.

"Ryan, I'll take over for you," Meg nodded. Ryan walked away, giving Quagmire the evil eye. Quagmire ignored it, turning to Meg.

"I'm in," Meg finally told him as she handed him a new hand. "Anything to get out of this dead-end job… and away from Ryan."

"He's crazy," Quagmire noted.

"My God, he's worse than you – no offense," Meg added quickly. "He NEVER LETS GO of ANYTHING."

"Oh good," Quagmire muttered, "so I have a rival."

"He's an idiot." Meg flipped her cards over. "Fifteen… twenty-five. Table wins."

From twenty feet away, Cassie watched Meg with a sort of detached air.

tTtTt

Chris hated school. Before he'd taken an attitude of indifference to it, but for some reason, school was rubbing him the wrong way lately. Maybe it was his girlfriend breaking up with him. Maybe it was Connie D'Amico's supposed kidnapping. Maybe it was the fact that Peter wasn't dropping him off anymore. Whatever it was, it was driving Chris nuts.

The fact that Chris only had two brain cells didn't help much either.

Chris wandered out of his English class, going to his broken locker, sighing. As he pulled some books out of it, he could have sworn he saw Meg out of the corner of his eye.

"Chris, stop ignoring me," Meg sighed.

Chris dropped one of his books on his foot. "Meg! I thought that -!"

"That I what?" Meg raised an eyebrow, waiting for Chris to lay it on her.

"…That you were dead," Chris murmured.

"I saw you this morning, remember?" Meg clicked her tongue irritably. "I couldn't tell you at home, but… I saw Mr. Quagmire yesterday at work."

"Oh no, Meg," Chris moaned, "Mom's going to kill you if you say that too loud."

Meg grit her teeth. "There's a reason I'm saying this to you AT SCHOOL, idiot. Anyway… apparently Dad wants to get back together with Mom."

"But Mom is with Leonard –"

"Good job." Meg rolled her eyes. "Stupid sack of… ugh. Yes. Dad knows that, and Mr. Quagmire told me that Dad has a plan to get back together with her. He needs our help."

Chris stared at the book on his foot. "…But how do you know this?"

Meg gave herself a face-palm. "My GOD Chris – DO YOU WANT TO HELP DAD OR NOT?!"

Chris blinked. "Of course."

Meg sighed. "Okay. Now don't think too hard about what I just told you, and get to class."

Chris nodded, smiling vacantly.

He had no idea what he'd just agreed to, but something told him he'd get to see Peter again, so it was all good.

A/N: The High School Musical joke here was borne out of a conversation with three of my friends at a sleepover at about two o clock in the morning. I'd like to thank Yomi-chan, Wanda, and Lil Riter for the inspiration for that scene.

A/N 2: I'm really bad at writing Chris, as you've probably noticed, so don't yell at me for that…

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy. I'm pursuing a job with Fuzzy Door, but that in no way means I OWN FG…


	5. Other Things We Might Need

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #4: Other Things We Might Need**

"Who else could we employ?" Peter wondered, taking a deep swig of his Pawtucket Patriot Ale. Brian stared at him, swishing a martini around in its glass.

"We need someone who can act," Brian mused, "someone who can blow up stuff –"

"That one guy didn't work?" Peter questioned.

_A gray-haired Japanese teenager glared at Brian from across the hotel room. The teenager took a drag on his cigarette, filling the air with putrid fumes. Brian habitually sipped at a martini._

_"So… you work with Vongola Famiglia?" the teen asked._

_Brian blinked. "Hayato Gokudera-san, if you allow me to be frank, I have no idea what the hell you're talking about."_

_"Mafia. This is Mafia, correct?"_

_Brian stared at Gokudera-san blankly. "…No."_

_Gokudera-san stared back at him before using his cigarette to light a stick of dynamite. "…If you aren't with me, you're against me!"_

"I see," Peter nodded. "Damned Italians."

"He was Japanese," Brian corrected irritably.

"They're in the same continent," Peter defended himself erroneously. "…So we need an actor, a pyro…"

"…A techie, and a thief," Brian finished. "We're going to need all the help we can get with this thing, Peter."

"An actor. What about Adam West?"

"Dead."  
"No."

"Tried to fly across the world in a hang-glider made of taffy. It failed, he fell." Brian coolly took a sip of his martini. "Well, the way I see it, there's only one kid who has the skills to hack into the Grand Cherokee."

"And I know someone who'll blow up anything," Peter nodded with a wicked grin.

Brian blinked. "You do?"

"Of course, you forget who I am," Peter said flirtatiously.

"…Peter Griffin?" Brian offered.

"No. My name is Pussy Galore."

Brian slowly got up and walked away, trying to shake what had just occurred from his head.

yYyYy

"Neil Goldman?" Peter cried out.

"Joe Swanson?" Brian also cried.

The four males clutched frothy mugs of beer in shaking hands, all confused.

"That's your tech expert? A high school nerd?" Joe questioned angrily.

Neil crossed his arms just as vehemently. "Well, I'm sorry to say that I think a police officer is not a legitimate explosives expert, and neither should you."

"Our legitimate explosives expert cost us thousands in hotel repairs," Brian muttered, rolling his eyes.

Peter drank heartily, still eyeing Neil warily. "How good is he?"

"I hacked into the television signals in this bar approximately fourteen minutes ago. Now they're playing nothing but CSPAN," Neil explained. Joe, not believing a lick of it, turned on a nearby television. Lo and behold, CSPAN, in its political glory. He tried to change the channel. CSPAN on every channel. Horace the bartender screamed some broken German at one of the televisions, pounding on it.

"We should probably go," Brian nodded.

"Yeah," Peter agreed. "Neil, you're in."  
"But what about Joe?" Neil questioned as they walked out of the bar. "We still don't know if he can even –"

An explosion rocked the street behind them. The four of them ran, three of them gagging on their own spit.

Joe, however, was giggling. "They weren't expecting that shit!"

lLlLl

"Acting?" Quagmire looked up at Herbert, Peter's decrepit ex-neighbor. Quagmire had thought he'd be the perfect thief. He wasn't buying the acting thing at all. "Okay, old man, what training have you had?"

"I understudied Obi-Wan Kenobi," Herbert cooed in his light, croaky voice.

Quagmire shifted his weight around in the reclining chair. Being in Herbert's house was… slightly unnerving. From what he'd gleaned from Chris, Herbert wasn't totally there. Quagmire was pretty sure that was true at this point.

"Um… Obi-Wan Kenobi's character didn't originate on stage," Quagmire cautiously pointed out.

Herbert sipped at some lemon tea. "Oh good, you aren't a moron, like that last guy."  
"That last guy?" Quagmire wondered.

_"So, um, yeah," Peter nodded. "I was, um, wondering if you could act."_

_Herbert stared blankly at Peter from within his doorframe. "…I played the drums with Queen after Freddie Mercury died."_

_"No shit! You're hired."_

"Yeah. I wasn't going to follow a moron," Herbert shrugged genially. "But if there's some smart people with this job." Herbert began to peel an orange. Quagmire blinked.

"What's with the orange?" Quagmire wondered.

"My doctor says I need to take vitamins," Herbert replied calmly.

Quagmire looked around, waiting for the canned laughter. "…Then why don't you take vitamins?"

"Are you here to give me a physical or to hire me?" Herbert demanded, his voice suddenly dropping an octave. Quagmire gripped the sides of his chair.

"I'm here to h-hire," Quagmire responded quickly. "Yes. To hire. Yeah. But I still don't think… acting?"

Herbert appeared amused by Quagmire's discretion. "I can act. Watch this."

Herbert jumped out of his chair and snapped his fingers. Music began playing from nowhere – discotheque music. Quagmire shivered. He'd already lived through this era once, didn't want to do it again.

_"Oh you can dance," _Herbert began, _"you can ji-hive! Having the time of your life! O-o-o-oh, see that girl! Watch that scene! Digging the dancing queen!"_

Quagmire had no control over his jaw anymore. It fell to the ground, utterly abandoned.

Herbert began to strut around the room. _"Friday night and the lights are low –" _The lights dimmed. Quagmire grabbed his sides worriedly. _"Looking out for a place to go… Where they play the right music, getting in the swing, you come to look for a king!"_

Quagmire couldn't see anymore. He stood up quickly, grabbed at the thing behind him, and pulled it to his face.

"If you NEVER do that again, you're in," Quagmire hissed, eyes flashing red.

"Why thank you, Mr. Quagmire," Herbert said, teetering away as the lights phased back to their normal setting. Quagmire stared at the puttering Herbert before falling into his chair.

"…Maybe I could get Cassie to do that." Quagmire thought on it for a few seconds before snickering quite audaciously.

eEeEe

The mousy blonde girl leaned against the wall of the subway, surrounded by men in suits. She was just waiting for her chance –

There it was. The subway lurched, sending one man flying into her. His coffee dripped to the ground, he ran into her. She swiped his wallet in the confusion. He apologized. She graciously said it was no problem. After all, it wasn't. She'd earned her money for the day. She surreptitiously slipped the wallet into a pocket inside her Juicy Couture mini-trench coat. The girl was pleased, and no one had noticed her.

Or so she thought. Brian lowered his newspaper, pleased that he had found her. Just as Neil had told him.

As soon as the subway lurched to a stop, the blonde maven walked out. Brian shuffled easily past her, observing her and making a slight movement with his paw, to fold his paper into quarters. The girl looked at him warily before sighing. She was safe for another day. She walked out of the station and into a Kwik-E-Mart, sitting down next to the Indian clerk.

"Another good day?" he questioned.

"Apu, you can't keep hiding in this cartoon," the blonde pickpocket chastised. "Someone will find you soon." She rummaged through her pockets blankly before realizing that it was gone. The wallet was gone! She frantically searched her pockets. In her frenzy, a business card fell out of the jacket's pocket and onto the laminate floor. Both Apu and the pickpocket stared worriedly at it.

"…Brian Griffin?" the girl finally read. She read the card fully. "This address is for the Drunken Clam."

"There was an explosion there the other day, no?" Apu recalled.

"He must work there," the blonde reasoned. "And he's challenged me."

"But you're the best pickpocket in Quahog," Apu mused.

The remark struck a nerve. The blonde headed toward the front of the store. "Yes… I am the best at something, then." She fled the store.

vVvVv

The blonde walked nervously into the Drunken Clam. She wasn't sure what to expect – just two days earlier, the whole place had been cordoned off after a bomb exploded. Now the place was up and running, with all its old haunts sitting in their usual places. There was Frank Brown from the casino, chatting it up with Glen Quagmire and Joe Swanson. The way-too-friendly performance artist sitting with Jasper and his Pilipino husband. It'd been a while since the girl had even walked in here, much less stayed.

"Looking for someone?" a voice called to her. She turned. It was a dog. A white dog was talking to her. She looked incredulously at the card.

"Brian Griffin?" she questioned. The dog nodded and patted a seat next to him at the bar. The pickpocket sat down next to him and ordered a Perrier quickly from Horace, so as to get him out of the way. Fortunately, Horace wasn't a conversationalist.

Brian slipped the wallet back to the girl. "Try to hold on better to it next time, Connie."

The girl jumped an inch in her chair. "How did you -?"

"I have friends in high places," Brian commented. "As for you, though… you're not suited to the life you've eked out for yourself, I must say. Graduating from high school and filling out applications and suddenly vanishing without a trace..."

"Mr. Griffin," Connie frowned, blue eye shadow becoming more visible as her eyes narrowed, "you don't understand what's been happening in my –"

"I'm not here to lecture you," Brian interrupted. Horace slid the Perrier to Connie, who snapped it open quickly. Brian watched her gulp it down with an indifferent look. "I'm not. I'm here to offer you a job."

Connie put the Perrier down. "A job. Right, okay, doing what?"

"Helping my friend get his wife back," Brian responded.

"…And HOW does that require my skill set?" Connie asked skeptically.

Brian whispered the idea into her ear. From across the room, 'Frank', aka Cleveland, Quagmire, and Joe all smiled as Connie's face went from confused to shocked enlightenment. There was no doubt in their mind that she'd have to comply. It was that or get returned to her parents.

Cleveland and Quagmire bopped their fists together. Plan in motion.

A/N: Yes. Connie D'Amico, Neil Goldman (yes, here he is, and why did everyone want him here…?), Joe Swanson (which was a bit of a no-brainer) and Herbert round out our gang of lowlifes. It took FOREVER to cast Linus Caldwell, just going to say that… I was between Connie and Kevin Swanson for the longest time.

A/N 2: And behold the really obscure reference to Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy or Ocean's Eleven. …Good, I'm done…


	6. The Details of the Plan

Griffin's Eleven

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #5: The Details of the Plan**

The crew was definitely motley. Connie couldn't help but notice it when all eleven of them assembled at Glen Quagmire's posh penthouse near the Grand Cherokee Casino. There was most of the Griffin family – Peter, the stupid instigator; Chris, the stupid one; Stewie, the infant acrobat and general hell-raiser; Brian, the suave, calculating one; and Meg, that hated, plain, bug of a person. There was Quagmire, obviously, who was bankrolling the operation; Frank, who was an inside man, as far as Connie could tell; Meg, who served the same purpose as Frank; Herbert, the old man from Spooner Street, who must have served some bizarre purpose; Joe Swanson, who was probably an offensive player; and Neil Goldman, who was either tech or a kamikaze. And then there was her.

She wasn't quite sure how these people fit together, but she was sure that, in due time, she still wouldn't know and would be on the verge of killing someone.

Connie decided to observe some of her potential coworkers. Stewie was building a house of cards upon the crystal-clear pool's diving board. Meg floated about Stewie, letting her hair undulate in the simulated current. Neil Goldman was explaining to Chris about the difference between Provo, Utah and Fargo, without making much headway; Brian had taken to listening to them and laughing hysterically. Frank and Quagmire were talking in low-ish voices about some sort of girl. Herbert the old man was drinking punch. Joe Swanson was wheeling between conversations.

And there she was, sitting on a chaise lounge morosely and praying that no one had the sense to turn her in.

"Connie?"

Connie looked down and sneered. "Meg. What are you doing -?"  
"What about you?" Meg asked angrily. "How did you disappear? And how did they find you?"

"If I knew how they'd found me, would I tell Miss Wears-a-Hat-All-the-Time?" Connie frowned, noting that, even in the pool, Meg wore a white bathing cap. It was more becoming than her pink hat, but it was still a hat, for God's sake. Connie was reminded of how… futilely desperate Meg was.

_Am I really any different than her anymore?_

"No…" Meg admitted sadly before diving back into the water. Ripples rocked the water around the spot where she'd disappeared. Stewie protected his card tower from a sudden breeze – the penthouse door had been open. It was Peter, partially masked in shadow. It was all very suspicious. The light was low inside, and inky shadows coated every inch of wall., Inside that penthouse was God only knew what…

"Hey everybody! Come on in!" Peter called cheerfully.

"Way to ruin the mood," Stewie drolly noted, rolling his eyes. Everyone filed in at their own pace – Brian ducked in immediately, so as not to be caught laughing at Chris and Neil, while Meg was one of the last to come in, drying herself off thoroughly and throwing a slip on over herself. Connie didn't move, still musing on how bizarre her life had become. Running from her materialistic family to pickpocketing in subways to entering a criminal liaison to get a man's wife back. Ah, youth.

A shadow descended upon Connie. She turned her head. Glen Quagmire.

"You're the D'Amico kid, aren't you?" Quagmire inquired blankly.

Connie nodded, a bitter thought entering her head.

"Well, that's nice. Like living on the streets?"

"Not particularly," Connie admitted.

"Then get in the God-damned house."

Connie gaped, wide-eyed, at Quagmire. In a state of mental shock, she stood up mechanically and rushed into the house before closing the door behind her, her shock of blonde hair lifting in the breeze before falling back onto her shoulders and bosom. The other nine people in the room all turned their heads simultaneously towards her before turning away in unison. Connie nervously sat down on the floor by Meg's sandal-adorned feet, noticing how they matched her swimming cap perfectly. Chris waved at Connie, who waved back, distinctly feeling that Chris had no idea who she was.

Quagmire re-entered the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Peter jumped up, a bouncing ball of energy.

"Haven't seen anyone that excited since Halo 3 came out," Brian muttered to himself. Connie caught herself smirking at the simple remark.

"All right, guys, I've made up the COOLEST FREAKING PLAN EVER," Peter began.

_Eloquent, _Connie thought sarcastically. _I'm entrusting my future to this lunatic._

"All right DAD!" Chris giggled hyperactively.

_I'm doomed, _Connie thought.

"Now, as everybody who is in the casino industry knows, all casinos have to have enough money to cover the amount of chips on their floor," Peter rattled off, obviously very proud of himself for memorizing such a simple fact.

As if to explain Peter's knowledge, Frank leaned down and whispered, into Connie's ear, "We taught Peter this stuff."

Connie nodded. She was surprised how inconspicuously she'd blended into this group, considering that there were rewards out for her right and left. Frank had treated her just like he'd treated Meg or Stewie. Of course, none of these people seemed to be after the money; that was just the means to justify the end.

"On a normal day in the Grand Cherokee, there's about 65 million dollars in the vault. On a weekend…" Peter pretended to mull it over. Connie smirked at the blatant display of showing off. "80 mil. 90, maybe. But… there's a fight night coming up."

The confused silence didn't seem to nudge Peter farther along.

Finally Meg spoke. "…And…?"

"There'll be at least 150 million dollars. More, maybe; definitely not less," Peter explained. "We're gonna rob it on the fight night."

"What about security?" Joe asked. "Casinos… usually they've got a good handle on that kind of thing."

"No kidding," Frank noted. "Sometimes the thumbprint scanner won't let me into work."

"There's no telling what else Cornfeathers has jammed up his ass," Stewie muttered under his breath. Peter turned on the television in the penthouse, showing a rotating model of the Grand Cherokee's interior. The video, much like the maze screensaver on a typical Windows computer, flew through the virtual casino, down a tech hallway and into a tunnel, then down a tunnel into an elevator shaft, with searing white lasers slicing across the mire. This seemed to match the schematic that Quagmire was obligingly taping to an easel by Peter.

"So, first things first, we have to get into the casino cages –" Peter began.

"There's three, here –" Quagmire spoke as he drew circles on each cage entrance with a red Sharpie – "here – and here –"

"Which'll be a cinch," Brian murmured sarcastically.

" – exactly as Brian says," Quagmire noted, not smiling. "After that, you have to get through the doors – " More red marks all over the map. " – each of which has a different six-digit code changed every twelve hours ON THE DOT."

"And past that is the elevator shaft," Peter continued.

"Which is where it all gets tricky," Stewie dryly commented, "right?"

"The elevator won't move without authorized fingerprint identification –" Peter explained.

" – Which we can't fake," Joe told them.

" – And vocal confirmations from both the security center within the Grand Cherokee and the actual vault –"

" – Which we'll never get," Meg protested feebly.

" – Furthermore, the shaft is rigged with motion sensors – those pretty little lights flickering across your eyes right there…" Peter pointed at the intense white lights.

"…Meaning if manually overriding the lift is impossible," Neil finished. "Did you guys even THINK about any of -?"

"After the elevator, it gets considerably easier," Quagmire assured them. "Just… three guards with Uzis and a license to kill, and the most elaborate vault door ever conceived by man."

The group stared at Peter and Quagmire for quite some time. Brian and Frank knew what they were in for. No one else did. The questions were festering in everyone's mind. Finally…

"Tunneling."

Connie grinned before laughing. "You're just trying to get us riled up, aren't you? I mean, it's obvious! We're gonna tunnel in and –"

"Tunneling past the Richter scales Cornfeathers sets everywhere?" Frank shook his head. "Ah, no. Dear Lord, no, that can't be done."  
"Wasn't planning on it," Quagmire shrugged. "Nice try, though, new girl."

Connie suddenly seethed. New girl? NEW GIRL! The illusion of homeliness disappeared in an instant. All Connie could think about was how utterly blunt and disgusting Glen Quagmire was.

As she fumed, Peter stood silently, as if daring the others to come up with a plan. However, even Stewie was at a loss.

Meg lifted her eyes towards Peter. "So let's say we get into the cage, and past the security doors, and past the elevator we can't move, and past the guards with the guns, and into the vault we can't move –"

"Without being seen by the cameras," Neil murmured offhandedly.

"Oh, yeah, that too," Peter recalled. Meg gaped at him, rendered temporarily mute, and Herbert took over.

"So say we do all that," Herbert continued. "We're just supposed to walk out of there with a hundred million dollars?"

Quagmire grinned. It was the kind of grin that had lured thousands of women to their doom, the grin that had brought so many powerful men into his network, the grin he'd yet to try on Cassandra. Meg's reserve broke instantly.

"Well… yeah," Quagmire said, very assured of himself.

Herbert blinked. "…Oh."

The silence was palpable, but no longer awkward, strained. An odd sort of confidence had instilled itself in the room… every member was ready and waiting.

Save for Connie D'Amico. But she was a special case. Quagmire knew that a smile wasn't going to change her mind. Only success.

Brian clapped his hands together. "Okay, douchebags, let's get started."

A/N: A big thanks to Rachelprue, my tireless beta, for editing even though she had no idea who Connie D'Amico is. (bows)

A/N 2: So I realized it's been quite a while since this mélange of awesomeness has been updated. To be totally frank, this story is really hard to write. It wasn't like I wasn't trying to write it. No, it was every other day I'd throw out the next draft of the next chapter, start clean, and then hate what I wrote the next day. It's a nightmarish way to work. This chapter and the next one, chapter six, were finally written in a burst of inspiration, and subsequent chapters are falling together nicely.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy or Ocean's Eleven. (laughs) Really, guys.


	7. Recon

Griffin's Eleven

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #6: Recon**

Task one: reconnaissance. Inexplicably, the job had gone to Connie. Predictably, her seconds were Quagmire and Cleveland, a.k.a. Frank. Connie recalled Brian and Peter's words.

_"I want to know everything that goes on in that casino," Peter told Connie. _

_"And we mean everything," Brian emphasized. "From the dealer rotation to the path of every cash cart. Everything on every guard, or any bigwig… basically anyone with a security pass. We need to know where they're from, what their nicknames are, their favorite songs, their relationship status, how they take their coffee…"_

_"Everything, then," Connie repeated._

_"Everything." Brian paused. "Think you can handle it?"_

_Well… duh, _Connie thought bitterly as she sat at a table in the main hall, her eagle eyes watching everything around her. She'd noted two different cash cart paths so far, sipping at a Starbucks coffee nonchalantly while pretending to listen to an iPod. In reality, she was preparing for anything. She wanted to know what was going on with the others, and Brian had agreed to feed her information through her black earbuds.

And, to ensure that Connie wouldn't be recognized by anyone willing to call off the Amber Alert, she'd, for lack of a better term, frumped herself up. Horn-rimmed glasses, a thick gray wind-breaker over an anime t-shirt of some sort (borrowed from Meg's closet), ripped up jeans, destroyed canvas shoes, and an old cell phone. It was an adequate disguise, and it seemed to be working… no one had noticed her shock of blonde hair yet.

Connie sketched out the path of the two cash carts she'd seen on a map given to her by Neil, quickly covering it with her notebook, and a sketch she'd been working on of Geri Halliwell. She'd always been a favorite singer of Connie's. As she added some dark streaks to Geri's hair, she felt her earbuds crackle to life.

"Hey, Amber, is that you?"

Connie sighed. Everyone had received a new name for the proceedings. Connie, jokingly, suggested to be named Amber. Quagmire – whose sole purpose in life seemed to be torturing her – decided it would make a good codename.

"Yep," Connie answered. "What's going down, Bond?"

Brian made a dull clicking noise with his tongue. "Just testing. Making sure you can hear me."

"Yep," Connie muttered again. "I've seen two carts, waiting for the other three."

"Okay, over and out."

"Out."

Connie's earpiece fizzled out once more. There was nothing in her head but silence. She turned back to her sketch before the allure of the blackjack table began to mess with her senses.

Connie fingered the money in her pocket, along with the fake ID and the various coins buried within her pants. She folded her sketchbook shut, pondering what to do. Of course, she could watch the other three carts from the blackjack –

No. The dealer would surely notice something.

But… she wanted to play.

Connie muttered a few assorted curse words before getting out of her chair. The urge to play was too powerful to overcome. Slowly, Connie retreated from her little hideaway in the middle of the lobby, grabbing her grubby shoulder bag and wandering over to the blackjack table. Slinging her bag over the back of the player's chair, she folded her hands over the red felt. Connie looked up.

"Back in five," the little plastic sign on the table read.

_Damn horned-rimmed glasses, _Connie grimaced, angrily stomping away, seizing her bag. In her fury, she slammed into a random employee. The two went skittering in opposite directions.

"I'm so sorry!" the employee, a girl, immediately cried out.

"No, it's -!" Connie responded before cutting off. Turquoise eyes, black hair, and a rough voice. That hellish voice that used to drive her crazy… Connie looked up, a strand of blonde hair falling down the bridge of her nose.

Connie stared at Cassandra. Cassie stared back. They recognized each other… Cassie narrowed her eyes, while Connie stood up quickly. Cassie grabbed the tray that had fallen out of her arms, standing up in a huff.

"…What are you doing here?" Cassie asked coldly.

"I could ask you the same thing," Connie intoned.

"You disappeared," Cassie murmured, her cheeks paling considerably. "Everyone's been looking for you, and here you are in Boston? Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"How's that pervert you used to know?" Connie shot right back, voice barely above a whisper. "Haven't seen him, have you? It's because he got bored."

"Matter of fact, I have seen him, and he was wondering why you stopped accepting money for your services," Cassie said bitterly, turning on her heel. "Much as I'd love to just stop and chat, I have a job, and work to do. You should probably leave, before someone recognizes you."

Connie pushed her glasses farther up the bridge of her nose. "I can't do that. For I have a job to do here, too."

Cassie stopped in her tracks. "…I wonder… is this about Lois Pewterschmidt?"

And then she walked away, a surreptitious grin on her face.

Connie, flummoxed, sat back down at her table, and took out her notepad and map, absentmindedly tracking the third cart.

"Amber, are you all right?" Brian's voice crackled to life in her earbuds. Connie choked on some spit and covered her mouth, acting like she meant to sneeze.

"…Watch Cassandra Buchem," she said in an extremely low voice. And then she sneezed.

iIiIi

_Casinos are built as labyrinths. _

Quagmire knew this extremely well. He needed to find the ways OUT, so that Peter would have the ways out. Especially now that Connie had delivered some startling news.

_"She knows."_

_Connie's words echoed blankly throughout the penthouse. Brian could only stare at the runaway, who was ripping her baggy sweatshirt off of her lanky body. She was running about in a rage._

_"Who?" Brian demanded._

_"That slut Cassandra Buchem!" Connie screamed. "She works in that casino, that one we're knocking over –" Connie glared at Quagmire, who seemed to have slopped his drink down the front of his shirt. "Get a grip on yourself! She ran into me, and…"  
Connie related the whole story as she changed and undressed and redressed, creating a whole new persona to walk the streets of Boston in. Brian, Quagmire, and Meg could only watch her as she raged and ranted._

_"…Cassie is perceptive," Meg finally said, after Connie was done yelling. "We need to fix this."_

_Brian and Meg turned to Quagmire._

And that was why he was at the bar, taking a sip of some concoction. The drink was a formality. He never thought the day would come when he would actually use the skills he'd gained in his years of serial dating on Cassie, a girl he actually liked.

_That's what they want me to do, _Quagmire thought with a groan.

"It's eleven in the morning." A cold drawl reached his ears. He didn't have to look around to know who it was.

"…I know that," Quagmire murmured, turning around, biting his lip.

To his surprise, Cassie was embarrassed by her indifference. She turned red, wiping down some glasses just to keep herself busy. "…What happened?"

"Nothing you need to know about," he muttered. His self-loathing grew by the minute, wondering if this was part two of Brian's plan for getting revenge. Quagmire should have never smacked him.

Cassie stared at him, completely confused. "…You look like hell."

"Good to know I can count on you," Quagmire spat.

Cassie angrily threw her cleaning rag on the bar. "I'm trying to _empathize_ with you, you prick!"

"You're the one who set the tone," Quagmire countered. "Remember? Constant rejections? Ringing any bells?"

Cassie sighed and looked away. "…You're so difficult, Glen!"

She didn't offer an explanation, instead retreating into an employee room. As soon as she was out of sight, Quagmire drained his drink and put it down tentatively. There was a reason he'd never 'looked like hell' in front of her before… she was too kind-hearted. Naturally concerned for anyone who looked down. He could've used that to his advantage countless times. He _should_ have, Quagmire realized, because the punk wouldn't have him any other –

"Glen?" he repeated with a start. "Glen. …She's never called me that before."

lLlLl

Joe was wheeling around on the side of a Boston street, placing traffic cones around a manhole. Dressed in his police officer's uniform, he was operating under the guise that a dangerous fugitive was rumored to be hiding beneath the sewers near the Grand Cherokee.

Of course, when Lieutenant Swanson had told Leonard Cornfeathers over the phone about the rumor, he demanded that the he go check it out, even though he was normally stationed in Quahog. Thus started phase two – power.

_"To be completely honest, I have no freaking clue how to blow the power," Peter thought aloud._

_"A bomb. A bomb will do it," Joe noted, playing solitaire with Connie. While he was distracted, Connie, played four cards. _

_Quagmire was shaking a martini shaker and not really paying attention, but at the mention of a bomb, his ears perked up. "The power grid is in the sewers."_

_"…How do you know this?" Connie asked blankly._

_Quagmire poured some pink liquid into a few martini glasses. "There was this girl, and her boyfriend was kind of following –"_

_"Scratch that, I don't want to know," Connie responded. Joe took the opportunity to play four cards, believing he now had the upper hand._

Joe lifted the manhole cautiously while a rookie cop tied a rope around his waist. "Just lower me down nice and easy, son."

"Are you sure you don't need a harness -?" the rookie asked nervously

"NO, I DON'T NEED A HARNESS!" Joe yelled. "Just be –"

The rope began to fray five feet above the swamped sewage river below. There was a block of cement directly underneath Joe, but if he swayed a bit to the left, he'd be deposited in waste.

"Um, Lieutenant Swanson?" the rookie moaned. "The rope is –"

"Just keep lowerin' me down," Joe interrupted.

The rope broke. Joe landed, face first, in a river of crap. The rookie looked over the lip of the manhole, shaggy black hair obscuring his eyes.

"Um, Lieutenant Swans -?"

"JUST LEAVE ME HERE!" Joe yelled back. The rookie's head retreated, but Joe waited a few more seconds before using his arms to push himself up out of the brown muck.

"This is disgusting," Joe muttered before wheeling through the waste, looking for the mythical power grid.

A/N: I like Cassandra too much. Originally this chapter was all about her. I mean ridiculously about her. And much as I enjoy the fact that Cassie fits into this story so nicely, I finally realized one of the reasons I was having trouble writing this story in the first place – not all the characters work well together. Cassie doesn't work well when paired with Peter. Quagmire doesn't work well in a scene with Stewie (though that didn't stop me from forcing scenes in _The Silent Game_…). Lois works terribly with Connie. All things I discovered when writing this chapter. (Yeah, Lois was gonna show up in this chapter. So was Stewie. Stewie's scene was reworked with Brian and put in a later chapter that's going to come soon; Lois' scene with Connie has been cut entirely.) Now that I've worked out who works best with who, updates will come more frequently. Thanks to everyone who's continued to read this story!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy or Ocean's Eleven. If I owned both… well, I wouldn't be here. Let's put it that way.


	8. Stewie Does Someting

Griffin's Eleven

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #7: Stewie Does Something**

"Third task is surveillance."

As soon as the words were out of Brian's mouth, Neil fell out of his chair. "Oh! OH! Is that -?!"

"Yes, it's your job, go grab some Ritalin on the way out," Connie snarled, disguising herself for another day of reconnaissance. Meg glared at the both of them.

"Something on your mind?" Neil asked, still grinning like a maniac. Brian drained his martini, feeling this conversation wasn't going to go well.

"Nothing's wrong," Connie spat.

"Obviously," Brian muttered under his breath.

Neil had already moved on. "So this is going to be a major black-bag job, if I'm guessing correctly. How am I supposed to get in there?"

Connie narrowed her eyes. "Let us handle it, ADD boy."

Meg glared at Connie. "Really. Something on your mind?"

"I hate Glen Quagmire," Connie said viciously.

Brian had to choke back a laugh. Meg was lost.

"What does he have to do with any of this?" Meg asked.

Brian smirked at Connie. Her frown grew more pronounced.

"What?" Meg asked.

"There's two tech guys," Connie said in a low voice. "And one of them is lonely."

oOoOo

"You work at a strip club?!" Meg screamed as she pulled up in front of the Lucky Horse "Dance Club". Connie adjusted her raven-haired wig disinterestedly, too busy glaring at Meg.

Connie rolled her eyes. "I know, I know, quite the life I've eked out for myself, insert condescending bullshit here."

Meg's eyes widened. "Is that how Mr. Quagmire found you?"

Connie choked. "What? No! No." Connie sighed. "You really don't know why they hired me?"

"No. Those guys don't tell me jack squat," Meg frowned.

_Frank, Joe, Peter, and Quagmire were laughing as Meg walked into the hotel room that served as the base of operations. They all whipped around, staring at her. She stared back._

_"…What's so funny?" Meg asked._

_Their eyes shifted nervously._

_"Nothing," Frank finally answered._

_Meg glared at them before stomping off. When the door slammed, Peter resumed talking._

_"So… so I said, 'You were brilliant in…um… 'The Mexican''. Cameron Diaz wasn't IN 'The Mexican'!"_

Connie sighed. It was sad how similar the two girls had become. Of course, no one told Meg anything because she was Meg. No one told Connie anything because they enjoyed torturing her. There was still that difference.

"…I'm a pickpocket," Connie admitted.

Meg gaped at her.

"You better not start with your narcing –"

"That's amazing," Meg said, in awe.

Connie's eyebrows rose skeptically. The joke was coming. "…What did you say?"

"You survived out on your own by stealing wallets and pole-dancing?" Meg summarized.

"You don't have to be so –"

"The fact that a rich girl like you could even lower yourself to that level…"

"Oh for God's –"

"…that's inspiring."

Connie opened her mouth, but closed it quickly. Meg was completely awestruck. Well, Connie had been nothing more than her tormentor at school. A rich girl with all the friends and all the connections. But Connie knew what question was coming next.

"But why do you need to work at a strip club, too?" Meg wondered.

That wasn't the question Connie was expecting.

"Picking pockets isn't exactly steady income," Connie responded. "Could you hand me that bag?"

"Sure." Meg dove behind the seat and handed Connie a red duffel bag. "What's in it?"

"My outfit. If that word's even appropriate." Obvious disgust. "Tell Brian to show up at about 9:30. That's about a half-hour after lonely tech-man gets here."

"Regular customer?"

"Yeah."

Connie stepped out of the car, taking a quick glance back at Meg before getting out entirely. Connie watched her car drive out of sight.

She'd actually sympathized with Miss Hat-Wearer. There was something very wrong with that picture.

xXxXx

Brian sat outside of the Lucky Horse, wondering how on earth Peter and Quagmire had managed to exploit every coincidence that was handed to them. Cassandra knows too much? Let Quagmire seduce her. Unguarded power lines? Let Joe go down there and find where to knock out power. One of the IT experts at the Grand Cherokee is lonely? Just so happens his crush is Connie D'Amico, a.k.a. Charmaine Resendes. You couldn't plan stuff like that.

Brian then checked himself. Maybe it was good that they were getting lucky now. Maybe it showed how much luck they possessed. And the motley crew was going to need all the luck and skill they could muster when it came time to knock over the Cherokee. He glanced at his watch. 9:25. He had a few minutes.

Just as Brian started to light a cigarette, Connie came out. Except she didn't look anything like Connie. She'd thrown on a brunette wig, a see-through teddy of some sort, and… actually, Brian was a bit afraid.

"C… Connie?!"

Connie clapped a hand to Brian's mouth, glaring at him. "I'm Charmaine here. Don't say that name."

Brian swallowed as Connie removed her hand. It smelled like disinfectant. When he looked up, he noticed she was slathering more disinfectant over her hands.

"I hate this job," Connie explained.

"Con – Charmaine, we need the ID card," Brian pressed. "I'll listen to your war stories after this gets done."

Connie nodded. "Here it is. It's clipped to my underwear."

"Couldn't have found a more discreet place to put it?" Brian asked as Connie unhooked the plastic badge from her lacy panties.

Connie shot Brian a look. No need to respond to that. She handed him the badge, putting her hands on her hips.

"You have an hour and a half, tops," Connie explained. "He only bought two hours."

"I'll have this back to you by your next break."

"An hour? Are you -?"

"I'm never sure. If you want the optimistic answer, go ask Peter. The moron hasn't done a thing."

Connie rolled her eyes. "His part comes later."

"You actually listen to Quagmire?" Brian questioned.

"Much as the guy pisses me off, he could turn me in whenever he wants to," Connie admitted. "It's a no-win situation."

Brian fingered the man's ID badge as Connie retreated back into the Lucky Horse. The world had gone completely crazy. Brian walked back into his car, completely aware of this fact. It seemed like every time Peter's future with Lois was threatened, everything exploded and the world turned upside-down – and not just for Peter. For everyone.

_"Brian, I was at the Drunken Clam that night because of a blind date," Cassie murmured to him across the table at the Italian restaurant, eyes narrowing with every wordt. "And I keep getting the feeling that I should've just waited outside for whoever it was."_

Brian bit his lip as he put the ID card on the dash, starting his Prius.

_"If she's kicking you out, she's going to move onto me soon," Quagmire told Brian as he loaded some boxes into a moving van. "Besides, Peter's gone. Cleveland's gone. Lois is as good as gone. Who knows what Joe will do? Soon it'll be just me left. And she blames me, too, you know."_

_"Is that why you haven't tried to screw her?" Brian asked as he loaded the last of Quagmire's stuff into the van._

_"Who says I haven't tried? She punched me and lit me on fire."_

He drove away, focusing on the road. No flashbacks here. He couldn't start having flashbacks here.

_"Get OUT!"_

_Lois threw Brian out the door, into the street. Brian screamed before standing up._

_"Dear GOD, Lois, what's wrong with -?"_

Brian slammed on the breaks – he'd almost run a red light. He would've crashed directly into that big rig. He sighed. Flashbacks. He had to stop doing that.

He glanced at the ID badge. "Wow. That DOES look like Neil."

pPpPp

Neil had the ID badge clipped to his tan shirt. He looked exactly like one of the Grand Cherokee's IT specialists. Neil was still a little nervous about this. His lack of direction necessitated that he draw a map on his hand. That was to help him get around once inside the hallways devoted to security and electronic monitoring. Neil glanced around the casino floor – swirls of color and people were flying around aimlessly.

And then he saw it – a huge amount of balloons. The others were in place.

Neil stuck his ID badge into a scanner next to a large pair of oaken double-doors. A low beep and a green light – go ahead, enter the doors. Neil did so.

cCcCc

Brian wandered through the Grand Cherokee, disguised as a blonde hippie with a cowboy hat holding a huge batch of balloons. He had no idea why Peter had forced him into this get-up, but he was now certain of one thing: Peter would never be good at sorting out anachronisms. He wandered around the casino floor, knowing his cue would come –

BAM! Brian ran into Stewie, toppled over the infant, and let all of the balloons loose. They hit the ceiling, landing right in the path of a group of cameras. Brian got up, but Stewie wasn't moving. Suddenly, punctuating the bleeps of slot machines and the sound of coins being cashed out, Stewie began to wail.

Brian began freaking out. "Oh my God, I can't believe I just tripped over a baby!"

"WAAAAAH!" Stewie screamed. "The mean old man KICKED ME! WAAAH!"

Pretty soon hotel security had arrived. Brian continued to freak out.

"Oh my God, oh my God, WHOSE KID IS THIS?! I'm SO sorry, little buddy, I'm SO SORRY!" Brian cried, over and over again.

"You tripped over this… baby?" the security guard asked Brian.

"Yes, sir, I didn't see it sitting on the floor," Brian said before looking up at his balloons. "Oh I know!"

Stewie continued to cry in an excruciatingly loud tone. Brian dislodged a yellow balloon from the tangled mass of balloons covering the security camera. Brian distinctly heard the security guard whisper into a headset, "I'm doing my best. …There's a lost child involved."

Brian presented the colorful balloon to Stewie, knowing full well the infant was going to give him hell when they got back into the HQ. "Do you want a balloon?"

Stewie sniffled and stopped crying for a few seconds before laughing. "You're a BALLOON BOY!"

"…So?" Brian said. Now came the fun part.

"You're a BALLOON BOY! Hah! Glad I ran into you, pal!" Stewie said derisively, taking the balloon and grinning evilly at Brian.

"Don't call me 'pal', friend," Brian said, trying to grab at the balloons. Stewie kicked him in the shin. Now another security guard was here to witness the madness. The first security guard was visibly laughing.

"Don't call me 'friend', jackass," Stewie said very loudly. A woman from the nearby slots was now watching.

"I have no idea what the hell is happening," the first security guard, a burly sort of man with red hair, whispered into his mike.

"Y-You just called me a jackass!" Brian gaped, taking the balloon back from Stewie. Stewie began to thrash about on the floor, wailing and moaning. Brian began shaking his head. "Oh God, what the hell?! Whose kid –DOES ANYONE OWN THIS DEMON SPAWN?!"

The second security guard, a lanky brunette with a lip piercing, picked the infant up off the floor and motioned that he wanted the yellow balloon back. Brian reluctantly gave it up. Stewie continued to fuss in the man's arms, whining and complaining about "the jackass taking my balloon".

"What a foul-mouthed kid," the burly security guard muttered before glancing at Brian. "I'm sorry, sir. This is a regrettable occurrence – but if you don't mind me asking, could you please move your balloons?"

"What? Oh – oh yeah," Brian obliged, grabbing for them. Stewie, watching out of the corner of his eye, threw something from within his pocket at Brian, who collapsed, twitching. His forehead began to bleed.

"Oh my God!" the thin security guard screeched. He glanced at the object. "Who carries rocks in their pocket?!"

"Babies," the woman offered.

"We need backup. We have a rogue child," the burly guard said audibly into his mike.

Right on cue, Stewie began to tear up, shaking. He jumped out of the thin guard's arms and curled into a ball on the floor, crying.

"Where's my dad? I want my dad. I don't know where he is. Where's my dad?"

Brian moaned on the floor, clutching his bleeding forehead. He tilted his head slightly, muttering about the bleeding. This allowed him to catch Stewie's eye. Stewie nodded slightly. Only one last thing to do.

Then Brian subtly flipped Stewie off.

"I want to be with my dad, and the dog. I want them both. Where's my family? I miss my fami – DON'T COME NEAR ME!" Stewie screamed at the woman as he began to slam his head onto the ground.

Brian sat up, woozy, before crawling towards the infant. "What is WRONG with this child?!"

zZzZz

Neil slid into the security hallways without much notice. If Brian and Stewie had managed to get everything under control – which is to say, get everything out of control – he wouldn't be noticed. Not that his disguise wasn't perfect.

Neil was so excited he was literally jumping down the hallway. Now it was time to prove his worth! Oh joy of joys! And maybe, just maybe, Meg would realize how much she needed him in his life!

_I wonder if ten cans of Mountain Dew were too much._

Neil glanced at the map on his hand. Second door to the left lead to the networks of fiber-optic cables. Neil could hardly contain himself. Finally, Meg would see how amazing he really –

"Move, Neil!"

Chris' voice crackled in his flesh-colored earpiece. Neil winced.

"Going, I'm going…" Neil whispered, opening the second door to the left.

The whole room was bathed in an eerie bluish-white glow. Wires were glowing and pulsating everywhere in the room, splayed over rows of metal cases with gigantic holes in them. The cables fell through the holes, for easy maintenance, and were zip-tied together in bunches of ten or twenty. Neil let out a little gasp of astonishment.

"This place is… amazing," Neil decided.

"That's great, Neil, but we need to get this done," Quagmire said into his mike.

Neil nodded. He knew which bundle he was supposed to go to… Neil glanced at the little plastic tabs over one of the circles. "Bundle 305" stared back at him.

"I'm trying to find Bundle 42," Neil admitted, "but I think I'm a ways off."

"Thanks for the update," Chris said cheerfully. A very audible sigh followed in a different voice.

"Why are you always so negative?" Chris asked the sigh-er.

"I could explain it to you," Quagmire muttered, "but I don't think you'd understand."

Neil continued to navigate the rows, finally seeing "Bundle 45".

"Is this what you're like when you don't have sex?" Chris wondered.

"You know what, Chris?"

"What, Mr. Quagmire?"

"You _might_ be right."

"I'm not totally dumb; I could detect that note of sarcasm."

"Detect?"

"Yeah, I learned that word from Brian."  
"Good word."

"Thanks, I thought it was right for the time."

"So, it was appropriate –"

"Oh, that's a good word, too –"

"Oh for God's sake, SHUT UP!" Neil said loudly, reaching for "Bundle 42". He slowly picked apart the separate bluish wires, wiping some sweat off his brow with his hand. He reached into his pocket, still vigilant, and clipped a small black device to one of the center wires.

iIiIi

"We have video," Quagmire said into a microphone in the hotel room. He and Chris sat in two chairs in front of a whole mess of computer monitors, all displaying images from all the cameras in the Grand Cherokee. Chris had grabbed some popcorn, and ate it as he watched Brian and Stewie continue their inane actions.

Quagmire grabbed another mike.

"Peter, you're up," Quagmire said into the mike before grabbing the first mike. "This whole microphone system is unwieldy."

"I can't change that," Chris admitted. "Brian and Neil set this up."

"Of course they did," Quagmire muttered. "Neil, pull out."

On one of the security screens, Neil opened a door and wandered down the hallway before glancing at his hand. And then he squinted at his hand.

"Crap," Chris said. Quagmire could only gape at the monitor.

Neil turned to the right and walked down one end of the hallway before turning around and walking the other way.

"Oh Jesus," Chris said. Quagmire closed his eyes, then opened them. Not a nightmare.

eEeEe

Neil couldn't believe how stupid he was. He knew Mountain Dew made him perspire, so what did he do? Drink ten cans of it! Forget Meg falling for him – he'd be lucky if she didn't try to kill him.

He tried looking at the extremely smeared map on his hand. No inkling of anything, but he was starting to recognize his surroundings. He turned down a hallway – the double doors! Freedom!

A casino security guard was walking in Neil's direction. Just to be friendly, Neil waved at him. The guard nodded before doing a double-take and walking towards the fiber-optics room.

rRrRr

Quagmire's eye twitched.

"Oh God," Chris screamed. "Oh GOD! What do we -?!"

"Neil, RUN!" Quagmire screeched into the microphone.

Neil winced on screen. "My mike just fuzzed up a lot; can you repeat what you -?"

"RUN!" Quagmire repeated.

But the security guard had returned. Quagmire put his face in his hands.

"It's over. It's all over," Quagmire sighed.

vVvVv

The security guard tapped Neil on the shoulder. He flinched, but remained calm.

"Hello, Burt. How are you today?" Neil asked.

"Pretty good. But I have to ask you something…"

Neil readied himself to run. Burt procured Neil's watch from his vest pocket, sighing.

"You always drop this stupid thing," Burt said, a bit annoyed.

Neil took it warily. "…Sorry about that."

"If your watch tan wasn't so blinding, I wouldn't have noticed it. Have a good day, Mattias."

"You too," Neil responded before walking out the double doors.

pPpPp

Chris and Quagmire stared at each other.

"I can't be in charge of watching monitors anymore," Quagmire admitted.

"Me neither," Chris agreed. "Too nerve-wracking."

Quagmire leaned over in his chair before sighing. "…I'm going to go distract Cassie again."

"Have fun," Chris said, placing his popcorn on the ground.

A/N: One of the announced episode titles for a Family Guy episode this season is "Ocean's Three and a Half". I found that immensely entertaining. (smirks) I look forward to it…

A/N 2: This chapter is 8 pages long. I had too much fun with the Brian/Stewie scene. I really had a great time writing that mélange of weirdness.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy or Ocean's Eleven. If someone owned both of them, an interesting experiment COULD take place…


	9. Three Steps for the Price of One

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #8: Three Steps for the Price of One**

"Step four," Peter declared

"Can we take a break from these steps?" Brian begged, running water from the sink over his head. "We're gonna get screwed over eventually."

Stewie huffed. "What, you do one thing and suddenly you can't do anything else?"

Quagmire was watching Brian. "God DAMN, that thing just keeps bleeding. How hard did Stewie hit you?"

Brian glared at Stewie, who was lazily laying on a couch near the bar, eyes half-open.

"What?" Stewie questioned.

"Anyway, step four?" Joe asked. "We've figured out how to cut the power, we have cameras, we know the whole place inside and out. What else is there?"

uUuUu

"Construction."

Connie walked into a large warehouse, where everyone else was sawing and cutting and measuring. She could only gape at her surroundings, flabbergasted. Frank looked up briefly from his amazingly difficult task of opening boxes.

"Yeah. We're making a fake vault," Frank explained.

Connie glanced around. Well, at least they picked a good location: the warehouse was larger than the ground floor of the D'Amico mansion. It would be easy to build a duplicate vault upon its gray concrete floors.

"Why?" Connie wondered.

Stewie wandered in front of Connie with three times his weight in lumber on top of his head. He seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

"Hey Brian! Brian! Look! I've got wood!" Stewie called.

"Good for you, you little fairy," Brian called back. He was sorting through metal sheeting a good twenty feet away.

Peter looked up from some blueprints resting on a table, and beckoned for Connie to come. Quagmire and Meg were also looking at the blueprints, though Connie couldn't piece together why Meg, of all people, would be trusted to look at something like that.

As soon as Connie reached their makeshift table, she asked again. "Why are we making a fake vault?"

"For practice," Quagmire responded, still looking irritable.

"Is there a reason you haven't slept with anyone for the past week?" Connie asked irritably.

Quagmire glared at her, saying nothing.

"What, you want your turn?" he seethed.

Connie threw up her hands. "No, no. Just wondering why you're taking your own shortcomings out on the rest of us."

Quagmire reached for something on his belt, but Peter stopped him.

"Yeah, for practice. Or something like that. But, Connie, you aren't going to be building," Peter explained. Meg shrugged.

Connie raised an eyebrow. "Do you need the ID badge again?"

"No, but good job on that one," Peter said.

Connie felt a little uplifted by this compliment. "…So why am I -?"

"You're working on task four point five," Peter said. "Intelligence. You're gonna learn to love Cornfeathers' shadow. You're gonna get the security codes for the doors to the vault from him."

"How the hell am I going to -?"

"You're the only one who can," Meg answered, her first words in the conversation. Their eyes met. Connie understood.

"All right. I can make contact easily," Connie muttered to herself. "This shouldn't be a problem."

"No. Just watch him," Quagmire demanded. He then lowered his voice. "And for your information, I'm pissed off because I have a bladder infection."

Silence.

Connie crossed her arms. "Wait. All I get to do is _watch _him? …And no one really needed to know about that, Quagmire."  
Quagmire shrugged. "I hate how you assume things. Because you know what happens when you assume."

Peter laughed. "Oh! Oh! I love this one!"

"You're usually wrong," Quagmire finished. "And you've gotta walk before you crawl, Ms. D'Amico."

"Reverse that," Meg corrected.

"Shut up, Meg," Peter said.

Connie stood there for a few seconds. Following Cornfeathers around didn't seem like it'd be too hard to do.

"All right. First thing tomorrow, I'll start," Connie told Peter. She nodded to Meg before walking off to help Herbert with some welding torches.

There was an awkward silence. Meg wandered off, leaving Peter and Quagmire alone.

"How far are you willing to go to get Lois back?" Quagmire asked.

"I need her," Peter answered.

Quagmire returned to the blueprints, nodding and smiling slightly. Brian wandered up.

"Quagmire, could you stop being such a douche to Connie? Sooner or later she's going to realize that you get a rise out of treating her like shit," Brian asked.

"Has she realized yet?" Quagmire responded.

"…No…"

"Then the answer to your question is no."

Brian narrowed his eyes. "You are SO evil."

sSsSs

"Step six is transportation, my boys," Peter explained to the small, close-knit group behind him.

"There was no step five," Chris murmured.

"I'm a girl, you bastard!" Meg cried, crossing her arms angrily. She glanced around at a dilapidated used-car lot, frowning. "I can't believe we still shop here, even though the jackass who owns this place sold us a TANK."

"Look, Dad, a SNOWMOBILE!" Chris laughed maniacally, totally forgetting about his earlier musing.

Brian, the last member of the group, glared at Chris. "We are not here for snowmobiles. We're here to get a sports car."

"Isn't that kind of reckless?" Meg asked Brian in an undertone.

Brian gestured to Peter, who was point five seconds away from being accosted by the sinister red-headed salesman of legend. He smirked.

"Just watch."

Sure enough, the redheaded salesman was at Peter's side instantly, an expert car salesman if there ever was one. He opened with a general line: "Can I help you with anything?"

"Yeah, actually," Peter began, "I need a sports car. And don't try to trick me, you snake-oil commie."

The salesman got a glint in his eye and wrung his hands in interest. "Oh, my good sir, you don't need a sports car! Come on, a guy like you? You could do MUCH better!"

Peter narrowed his eyes. "I could? What's better than a sports car?"

Meg and Brian watched soundlessly. Brian seemed unperturbed.

"An Astrovan, that's what! With gas prices so high, why would you want an oil-guzzling Mustang? The Astrovan was made in 1983!"

"Wow! That's such good gas mileage!" Peter responded.

Meg turned to Brian. "Aren't you going to -?"

Brian put a hand in front of her to stop her from saying anything else.

Meanwhile, Chris was playing with the snowmobile, offering it a book to read, and getting offended when it declined to partake in graphic-novel-reading. He yelled all kinds of weird things at the snowmobile, attracting the attention of car-buyers from all over the lot. Meg couldn't hear any of the words as she watched him – the situation was akin to seeing a movie on mute. And damn if it wasn't funny.

"So can we sell you this Astrovan?"

"Hell, give me two of them!" Peter responded.

Brian snapped his fingers. "Bingo!"

Meg frowned. "That was stupider than the time I hung out with Johnny Knoxville."

_Johnny Knoxville stood near the edge of Joe Swanson's roof, looking as if he was about to jump. Meg, pale and frightened, shook her head over and over again._

_"Johnny, this is CRAZY," Meg yelled at him, putting her hands over her eyes._

_"No it isn't! I've jumped from a roof to a pool HUNDREDS of times!" he responded, trying to get in an ideal jumping position._

_"That doesn't mean it isn't crazy!" Meg retorted. "Please don't do this!"_

_"I'm gonna do it!"_

_"Are you even LISTENING TO ME?!"_

_"One, two, THREE!"_

_Johnny jumped. Meg winced as she heard the sickening crunch of bone on concrete. The sound of hysterical laughter reached her ears fairly quickly._

_"Oh my GOD that was awesome!" Johnny cried. Meg separated her fingers to catch a glimpse, but immediately covered her eyes up again, turning a brilliant shade of green. "Oh God… do you see how far my kneecap traveled?! Look at the BLOOD! Holy freaking GOD that was freaking awesome!"_

"But it worked, didn't it? Now we have two vans," Brian responded. "I think your anecdote was in a totally different category."

"It took weeks to get the blood off the wall," Meg recalled. "And Kevin broke up with me over it."

"Knoxville was Kevin's friend to begin with," Brian said.

"Yeah, well, that worked out well for all parties, didn't it?" Meg muttered before bursting into tears. Brian slowly backed away from her, going to help Chris beat the crap out of the snowmobile.

wWwWw

"Meg. Meg. MEG."

Meg shook herself out of her reverie and glanced over her shoulder. Cassandra was looking pissed, holding a drink tray under her arm and biting her lip. Was that a tear catching in her eyelash? Meg wasn't quite sure.

Today had been bad anyway. Meg hadn't thought about Kevin in quite some time, and thinking about it now just made her depressed. Things could have been so great between the two of them.

"Meg, you're spacing out again."

Meg smiled at Cassandra. The two were trapped inside the enclaves of the bar, serving lushes their daily dose of alcohol.

"Sorry. What's got you pissed off?" Meg asked.

Cassandra pointed to a nearby blackjack table. A kid with shaggy blonde hair and a green beanie was at the tables. Meg sighed.

"God, not that kid again," Meg muttered. Cassandra handed the drink tray to Meg.

"I need you to hold the fort here," Cassandra spat as she pushed the bar door open and strode over to the teenager. She put her hands on her hips as she accosted.

Meg sighed as she wiped down the drink tray. Everything was going to seem more depressing today. Just thinking about Kevin had gotten her in a knot… and Meg could only imagine why Cassandra was in such a foul mood. The littlest things seemed to set her off, and it had ALWAYS been that way.

_Cassandra sat in front of the television, flipping through channels, finally landing on the Oscar nominating ceremony._

_"And for Best Supporting Actor, the nominees are… Casey Affleck, for 'The Assassination of Jesse James By The Coward Robert Ford'."_

_Cassandra nodded. Good choice. She thought he would get overlooked._

_"Javier Bardem, for 'No Country for Old Men'."_

_"Duh," Cassandra said. Bardem was a lock to WIN, much less a lock for a nomination._

_"Phillip Seymour Hoffman, for 'Charlie Wilson's War'."_

_Cassandra's jaw dropped. They were going in alphabetical order. That meant… Cassandra screamed angrily._

_"WHERE IS PAUL DANO, YOU BASTARDS?!" Cassandra bellowed. "I'M GONNA KILL YOU, ACADEMY! HEAR ME? __**KILL YOU**__!"_

_Cassandra's sister Jean stuck her head through her doorframe, brown hair tousled and eyes narrowed in anger. "It's FIVE THIRTY IN THE FREAKING MORNING, YOU MORON!"_

_"SHUT UP!" Cassandra screamed back._

Meg looked up. No one at the bar. Looked like it was going to be a slow, boring day. Cassandra was now proceeding to grab the boy by his collar and forcibly throw him out of the Grand Cherokee. She must've been in an exceptionally foul mood.

Meg wiped down a glass, keeping her hands busy. She wondered what everyone else in her dad's group was up to. She'd opted out of step seven, realizing it would be convoluted and more trouble than it was worth. But now curiosity was getting the best of her.

She put the glass back in its place on the glass counter. Everything around her seemed to be made of glass. Meg felt like the Ice Queen in Narnia – surrounded by white frosted stuff, see-through things, and agents of sin.

_Unfortunately, I'm not Tilda Swinton, _Meg thought rather unnecessarily. Cassandra wandered back to the bar, seething.

"That kid doesn't get it, does he?" Meg muttered.

Cassandra grabbed a glass and began to clean it. "Tell me about it."

_Cassandra threw the blonde boy into the parking lot, a look of pure loathing on her face._

_"Why do you always do this ON MY SHIFT?!" Cassandra demanded to know._

_"I just wanna play cards! I'm twenty years old!" the blonde kid replied._

_"You have to be twenty-one, idiot," Cassandra said. "And you do realize if you keep doing this, you'll be banned from the casino before you can legally gamble!"_

_"You're a raving bitch, you know that, right?" the man spat, fist clenching. He went to punch her, but Cassandra kicked him in the groin before he could get near her._

_"Zack Murdock, GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" _

"That kid operates from a core of pure rage," Cassandra added.

"Sounds like he'd be the perfect match for you," Meg snickered. At least she could derive enjoyment from goading Cassandra.

"You've got to be kidding me," Cassandra said, rolling her eyes. "He'd be the perfect match for the bride of Godzilla." She paused. "Are you insinuating I have an anger problem?"

Big words. At least she was trying to control her temper, Meg realized.

"Well, lately…"

"It's all that bastard's fault."

"The blonde kid?"

"No, he's just a nuisance. The other bastard."

"Quagmire?"

Cassandra nodded.

"Him and Ryan. They'll end up killing me by the end of the week."

They continued to clean glasses in silence.

"…There's a fight night coming up," Meg said awkwardly.

"Yeah. I guess we'll have stuff to do then, huh?" Cassandra said. She looked around, to make sure no one was paying attention, and turned to Meg. "I saw the weirdest thing the other day."

"Oh really?" Meg murmured. She was pretty sure she knew what was coming.

"Yeah. I saw Connie."

Meg guessed correctly. She pretended to be shocked.

"Connie D'Amico? …Seriously?" Meg asked.

Cassandra frowned. "Would I lie about something like that? No, it was definitely that D'Amico devil. She was disguised in some weird outfit or whatnot. Wasn't she kidnapped?"

"I think so," Meg murmured, putting a glass underneath the bar and procuring a dirty martini glass in its place. "Why? Was she with someone?"

"That was the weird thing," Cassandra said. "She wasn't. It was as if she was… hiding herself. But that's not the weirdest part."  
Meg blinked.

"She asked me how Glen was doing," Cassandra continued. "It was like she knew I was talking to him again. My MOM doesn't even know I talk to him. I mean, she has a restraining order against him, so why the hell would she want to know, but…"

Cassandra frowned. She stopped polishing the glass. Meg also paused. Glen? Cassandra was obviously having some sort of mental breakdown. Meg subtly shook her head. Focus! Connie might've given away the whole plot unknowingly, all by mentioning Mr. Quagmire. Cassandra had a very shrewd brain – she'd managed to convince Peter and Lois that she didn't kidnap Stewie in her freshman year, for one thing – and was good at piecing inconsistencies together.

"Meg, you're really the only one who knows. Besides Ryan, and he's a nut," Cassandra scowled. "I mean, you're my best friend. And I know I can trust you."

Meg's heart slid up her throat.

"Do you think something's going on?" Cassandra asked.

Meg sighed. "Why would I know anything about Connie? After she vanished, people stopped torturing me as badly. I'm not really keen on finding her again."

_Although she's become a bit of a… dare I say it, friend._

This seemed to reassure Cassandra a bit. She went back to cleaning the glass. Meg didn't.

"Have you seen your mom in a while?"

"I moved out to get away from her," Cassandra spat. "Do you think I'd willingly go back to visit?"

"She might be dead!"

"Good riddance?"

Meg narrowed her eyes. "She's not that bad."

"She screwed Glen; she deserves whatever she gets."  
"What's with calling him 'Glen' all of a sudden?" Meg asked curiously.

Cassandra became conveniently mute.

A/N: Ah, the Johnny Knoxville cutaway. That cutaway was written for my aborted Family Guy fic "Road to Mexico", and was originally given as a reason why Cassandra was afraid of heights. It fit here better than it did in "Road to Mexico". I'm just glad I'm getting to use it again.

A/N 2: Paul Dano deserved a nomination. X/

A/N 3: I'd like to thank Malcom Fox very much for letting me mention Zack Murdock in this story. I couldn't think of any other character who'd get thrown out of a casino, not to mention one whose temper could offset Cassandra's emoness.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy or Ocean's Eleven. Of course not! (laughter)


	10. Goddess Eternal

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #9: Goddess Eternal**

Connie dashed into the headquarters, smiling widely. Peter and Brian were the only two people in the room, with everyone else scattered all over Boston, doing their own things.

Brian glanced at her quickly, putting down his martini. That smile could only mean one thing.

"You've been doing well, I assume," Brian said.

Connie nodded. "I've managed to track down Lois."

cCcCc

A beautiful red-head stared at a painting before her in a tranquil art gallery. The parquet floors had been newly waxed, but the few people in the vast space didn't seem to mind. All of them carried themselves in a way that suggested slipping was beneath them. Their jewelry glistened in the light given off by art-deco lamps scattered liberally around the room.

The red-head wasn't paying too much attention to that. All she could do was stare at the beautiful picture before her. Here, for a limited engagement, Monet's _Water Lilies_. How did he manage to get it here? She had the feeling that her lover moved it here just because she mentioned it was her favorite painting. Her full lips curled into an uneasy smile.

A man strode across the floor, his shoes making clicking noises. No one squeaked on this floor. The woman turned her head. Of course, he was right on time. She couldn't get used to a man actually arriving somewhere when he said he would. That was what made this man different from her ex-husband.

He stopped in front of _Water Lilies_. The two of them stared at it.

"It's going to take a lot of effort to get it here permanently," the woman said, no nonsense in her voice.

"It's worth it, just to see the light in your eyes," the man responded, his long black hair done into a thin braid. He wore the finest suit, to compliment the woman's silk sport coat and thigh-length skirt.

The woman smiled. "You're too good to me."

The man nodded slightly. "Anything for you, my dear Lois."

Lois turned a delicate shade of pink. She leaned in to kiss him, but he put his hand on her shoulder and glanced into the corner. Lois' eyes moved to the same spot. In the corner of the room, something resembling a small black ball was glued to the ceiling. Lois knew immediately what it was, and pulled away quickly.

"Someone's always watching," she murmured. "I'm sorry, Leonard."

Leonard gave her a small smile. "Not a problem. Now, where is the seller?"  
"Late," Lois informed him.

_The funny thing about perfection, _Lois thought, _is that no one else can measure up. _

_Maybe that's why Leonard's other girlfriends left him._

aAaAa

_"Tell us about Leonard," Peter demanded, patting the sofa seat next to him. Connie was too excited about her success to deny the seat, as she usually did, and plopped right down next to him. She turned to him and grinned._

_"Well… he's a machine, simply put," Connie said, smile not faltering._

_Brian spit out his martini. "What?!"_

_Connie's smile faltered. "I mean he's unflappable. He does the same thing every day, same time every day."_

_"Oh. Continue."_

_"Well, he arrives at the Grand Cherokee at two p.m. every day."_

Connie leaned against a pillar, sketching some more. This time, it was a sketch of Meg Griffin. At first, Connie was trying to capture inner beauty there, but then Connie realized the only thing there was inner confidence. Finding this sufficient, she began work on her masterpiece, _Meg Griffin Has Confidence In Sunshine_. Usually she wasn't in the open like this – she preferred to hide behind a bush nearby – but today she wanted to make sure that she saw what happened clearly. She'd given Brian and Peter the figures, and triple-checking them became the first priority.

In her line of sight, she saw Leonard Cornfeathers' car pull up to the drive. Same car every day – black Cadillac with eight-inch rims. Connie had seen enough cars on lots in her time as teen princess to know everything about them.

_Can't believe they took MEG instead of me to the lot,_ she thought angrily.

Cornfeathers stepped out of the car, no one flanking him. He nodded to every man outside of the casino, addressing them by name. Connie flipped a page and began to doodle him on a separate sheet of paper.

"Hey there Kevin. How's your girlfriend?"

"Good. Morning sickness is almost gone."

"Great to hear. Good afternoon, Jason."

"Hey boss. How are you?"

"Good. Did your kid pass that test?"

And so on and so forth, until Cornfeathers reached the automatic door of the casino. Connie glanced around and walked into the open, returning to her drawing of Meg.

_"Offices are upstairs in the Cherokee. As soon as he enters the building, he goes there and stays there until seven."_

_"Does he get the codes in there?"_

_"No. He gets those later."_

Connie sat at a table, putting the finishing touches on her old Geri Halliwell picture. The streaks in Geri's hair weren't looking right to her. She glanced upward, to the second floor, where a long marble handrail partially obscured her view of the offices. The place was opulent, that was certain. Every time Connie walked in she felt underdressed. She glanced at her beat-up fake Rolex. 5:25 p.m. Cornfeathers wasn't going to be coming out anytime soon. She returned to her drawing. Today had been pretty uneventful at the casino. Connie ran into Meg and the two exchanged pleasantries. Connie called herself "Mischa" to distract pesky onlookers, and disguised her voice. Meg said she should be on _SNL_, she was so good at disguises and impressions. Connie vehemently disagreed; _MadTV_ was clearly the superior show, and she'd much rather be on it than _SNL_, especially with Amy Poehler about to leave. The pleasantries turned into a texting argument. Every few seconds Connie's phone would vibrate and send her a pointless message like "Tina Fey was on SNL. Who was on MadTV? Anyone?" or "More cowbell FTW". Connie had to admit that _SNL_ was better to get her to shut up. That was around 3:00.

Connie also saw Cassandra. Quagmire was hitting on her again. As was characteristic, she blew up in his face and got mad. Another kid with sandy hair, leering eyes, and a weird gait – Connie assumed this was the Ryan kid Meg complained about so much – came up to Cassandra's side and began arguing with Quagmire as well. She stared at Ryan irritably, making it very clear that she wanted neither of them near her. She eventually stormed off, going into the staffer's lounge. Connie returned to her drawing. If Quagmire couldn't get Cassandra to be less suspicious before the heist, there were going to be major problems.

_"At seven, he spends three minutes with his floor manager discussing business."_

_"All kinds?" Peter asked._

_"All kinds. There's rarely anything about his casino Cornfeathers doesn't know about."_

Cornfeathers leaned over the marble handrails of the second floor, speaking with his floor boss, a rather stout man with curly red hair. Connie recognized him immediately as condescending jerk Paddy Tanninger.

Tanninger spoke quickly and in a low voice. Cornfeathers' eyes darted around to the places Tanninger was (presumably) mentioning. Connie followed Cornfeathers' line of vision to see Cassandra, cleaning glasses with an unfocused look, lonesome and moody. Then it went to a roulette table. A section of video poker machines. All the while Tanninger whispered conspiratorially to Cornfeathers.

Connie glanced at Cassandra again. She looked really horrible. Her heart sank for some reason. Spending time with Meg had made Connie a bit more human – maybe that was the term for it – and Cassandra's expression reminded Connie of her just after she ran away. Hopeless, helpless, hapless.

Connie soon shook herself out of it. Cassandra was nothing more than a whore.

But still…

No. She was evil.

_"Then he spends a few minutes with the highrollers. Cornfeathers knows more languages than there are people in this room," Connie continued unabated. "But he's out of there by seven-thirty, when he's handed a black folder with the new codes for the vaults and the day's money intake and output. All data, all numbers. …But after this, that's where it gets fun. See, he heads over to the restaurant."_

pPpPp

Connie and Brian stood at the foot of a beautiful marble staircase in the eastern wing of the casino. Connie was indulging in some shrimp cocktail, holding it in a silver goblet.

"I have to say, this is freaking delicious," Connie murmured, a black bob wig over her blonde tresses and a fancy white flapper dress on her person. Brian wasn't paying attention. Connie had never seen Lois before, so she wasn't quite sure if the redhead who was set to come down the stairs was really her. Connie ate another shrimp, smiling widely.

"She should be coming soon," Connie said with a smile. "I have to say, this was always the best part of my day."

Brian eyed her confusedly. "The best part of your day?"

Connie turned a delicate shade of red and quickly ate a shrimp, not even bothering to dip it into her bowl of cocktail sauce. Brian narrowed his eyes.

"The whole point of this thing is to get Lois _back together with Peter_," Brian pressed.

"Doesn't mean I can't look, can I?" Connie asked.

"You're a lesbian?"

Connie rolled her eyes. "Of course not!" But she wasn't fooling anyone. Brian raised an eyebrow.

"Oh okay. I'm bisexual. You know Katy Perry?"

"Yeah."

"Well, yeah, that song 'I Kissed a Girl'? She wrote that for me."

_Connie and Katy Perry sat in an alleyway behind the Kwik-E-Mart of Quahog, laughing hysterically. _

_"Oh my God, and then she was all – get this, she was talking to one of her friends, totally dressed up like a gothic poser, you know what they look like," Connie said, voice rising with each word._

_"Oh God I know! 'I'm so emo, I'm gonna wear… PINK!'" Katy shrieked with laughter._

_"So anyway, she goes up to her friend and goes, 'I kissed a girl and I liked it.'"_

_"Seriously?"_

_"Oh, it gets better. Her friend asked her what she liked about it, and she says – no joke – 'the taste of her cherry chapstick'."_

_"That's rich!"_

_"I know, and then she was all, 'I hope my boyfriend doesn't mind it'. For serious. God, these people are SO STUPID!"_

_"Oh my God, I'm going to write a song about that!" Katy took out some paper and began scribbling down words. "It's going to be the dumbest song I've ever written, but anything to expose those gothic posers for what they are!"_

_"Right on!" Connie called. "You know what would be funny? If the label actually LIKED it!"_

_"Oh I doubt they would," Katy admitted. "I've already got a verse, and boy is it STUPID."_

"I doubt it," Brian hissed before looking up towards the staircase and immediately stopped talking. There she was. Lois Griffin, in all her glory. She'd grown her hair out longer, so that it reached her shoulders, and her face was bright and vibrant. She was sheathed in a blue floor-length gown, with sparkling accents that caught the light of the chandelier above her. A necklace with a pearl ring on the chain was visible.

The chandelier suddenly crashed, and the Phantom of the Opera appeared, grabbing at the ring and yanking it off Lois' neck. He stared into her eyes. "Your chains are still mine! You belong to _me_!"

Leonard Cornfeathers emerged from the staircase, snapping his fingers. Four security guards took the Phantom away, and another three pulled the chandelier back to its usual position on the ceiling. Lois appeared to be unshaken.

"Happens all the time," Connie explained with an air of finality. "…So, is that her?"

Brian nodded as Lois walked down the staircase with her beau, speechless. "Yes. That's Lois Pewterschmidt."

The two of them watched as the rich couple walked down into the restaurant. Connie finished off her shrimp cocktail, staring at Lois' retreating back.

"It's gonna be hard to split those two up," Connie noted.

"Thank you Captain Obvious," Brian spat.

A/N: So apparently, since I last wrote, there's been huge flame wars over the whole Meg/OC thing and various pairings of questionable taste. I did read through parts of Material's critiquing opus, and I have to say that for the most part he writes a very thorough review. It's when critiquing certain aspects of the fandom that he gets a bit one-sided. I'm just glad that Meg remains single in this story.

A/N 2: First chapter without an appearance by Cassandra since her introduction in the story!!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy. Le duh.


	11. I'm Not Laughing, Danny

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #10: I'm Not Laughing, Danny**

"This is quite the suit," Herbert whistled as he was being fitted in a tailor's shop. Quagmire watched, smirking.

"It's Armani," Quagmire told him, only a bit proud. He took another swig of a martini, in much better spirits than before.

_"I don't want to talk to you right now, Glen," Cassandra spat. She glared at him, a fire in her eyes. Quagmire was glad to see something more than detachment in her eyes, for many reasons, the main one being that the fire, the spark in her eyes, was something he hadn't seen since she was drugged and tricked into loving him two years ago. It suggested something…_

_…well, something that appealed to Quagmire very much._

_"I've been meaning to ask, why are you calling me by my first name?" Quagmire inquired._

_Cassandra turned bright red. She tried to answer before returning to her old mantra. "Just leave me alone."_

_"For a nineteen-year-old, you sure act like a middle-schooler," Quagmire mentioned, none of the usual cheeriness in his voice. _

_Cassandra looked taken aback. She'd never really heard Quagmire's "serious voice", mostly because the two of them spent too much time yelling at each other to have an actual conversation. She narrowed her eyes._

_"You don't understand," Cassandra muttered. "If I told you anything, you'd just be a pervert about it."_

_This sounded different. Quagmire leaned in closer to her._

_"If you told me anything about what?"_

_Cassandra looked into his eyes. "If I was to –"_

_"Is he bugging you, Cassie?"_

_Ryan was at Cassandra's side, glaring at Quagmire._

_"No, Glen isn't bothering me that much," Cassandra said quickly. Score another one for surprises. "You are, though."_

_"I find it hard to believe this jerk isn't bothering you," Ryan spat._

_"He isn't," Cassandra pressed again. "You, however, are, as I just said."_

_Quagmire's grin grew as the argument escalated. That was a mistake._

_"What are you smirking at?" Ryan demanded to know. _

_Cassandra glanced at him and smirked a little herself before she scowled again. "Ryan, Glen, leave."_

_"Why are you calling him that?" Ryan demanded. "Treating him like… like…"_

_Ryan's eyes widened. Cassandra glared at him and tromped off, irritated. Glen smiled evilly at Ryan._

_"Well, then," Quagmire said, a malicious glint in his eye. "Who's winning now, pansy boy?"_

_Ryan stalked away, fuming._

"So we're almost ready to start, then?" Quagmire asked Herbert. The tailor had retired into the bowels of what appeared to be a small closet, but which was, on closer inspection, an office. Herbert watched his retreating back cautiously, trying not to move around in his suit too much.

"It's been tacked together," Quagmire said, rolling his eyes.

"I don't want to get stabbed by any pins. That wouldn't be any fun," Herbert replied. "Do I look all right?"

"I don't answer that question unless you tell me why you want to know."

"I see, I see." Herbert looked into the mirror. "Do you really think I can be…?"

"Well, it's either you or Chris, and that's like choosing between Chris Farley and Patrick Swayze."

Herbert blinked.

"You know, that famous sketch?" Quagmire elaborated. "The Chippendales sketch?"

Herbert stared at him.

"Did you just have a heart attack?"

"No, I'm waiting for you to explain what you're talking about."

Quagmire swallowed some bile. "It was a famous –"

Herbert fell asleep almost instantly. Quagmire glared at him.

"Oh, you're freaking PERFECT for the part, Herbert," Quagmire muttered angrily.

dDdDd

"My name is Lymon Zerga."

Herbert was practicing his Eastern European accent in a mirror, trying his best to suppress his voice's natural whistle. Chris was playing doubles solitaire with Peter, Connie was still in jubilation over her successes, and Quagmire was… well, he wasn't in the room.

Peter's eyebrow twitched. He was getting really annoyed. Hearing the same line over and over again can do that to a person.

Connie, meanwhile, was watching the television, giddy. She had been shouting out news headlines at random intervals pretty much all day, which startled everyone every time she did it.

There was a protracted silence. Only Herbert's whistling could be heart, softly, like a low-playing record, like mood music. Peter flipped over more cards while Chris continued his run of stacking. Connie was still shifting back and forth on the couch.

"My name is Lymon Zerga…"

iIiIi

"Lymon Zerga?" the woman at the front counter of the Grand Cherokee asked. She seemed suspicious, despite the fact that Herbert had a valid passport and an Hawaiian driver's license.

_"Hawaiian's harder to trace."_

_Connie stared blankly at the bespectacled teen in front of her, scarcely believing her eyes._

_"This… this doesn't even have a last name on it. It just says… it says…" Connie couldn't even finish her sentence._

_"Well, it was between that or Bruno."_

_"Why would it be between -?"_

_"I happen to LOVE the Ali G Show."_

_Connie grabbed the kid by the collar. "I don't give a crap WHAT you love, Fogell or McLovin or whatever the hell your name is! Just get me a working Hawaiian ID for a certain LYMON ZERGA or I'LL TEAR OUT YOUR INNARDS AND WEAR THEM LIKE A SCARF!"_

"Indeed. My name is Lymon Zerga," Herbert said in an impeccable Eastern European accent. "I recently moved to Russia from Hawaii, but I'm here to play the tables. And rent a room."

The woman nodded, smiling.

From up above, Leonard Cornfeathers appeared to be watching him with Paddy Tanninger. He wasn't suspicious, just… curious.

lLlLl

Lois stared into the single lit white candle at the center of the restaurant table. It flickered in the low lamplight. Lois smiled wearily, hands folded together elegantly over the linen tablecloth.

Lois knew that everyone in the restaurant thought she was a vision, resplendent in a low-cut red dress and a stunning sapphire necklace that accentuated her collarbone perfectly. Her red hair was longer than it used to be, falling down the nape of her neck. She could sense the men staring at her lustfully; the women staring at her jealously. The only man she knew wasn't staring at her was Quagmire, who was actually talking to Meg.

Lois laughed a little. _Why talk to Meg?_

A shadow descended over the flickering light. Lois didn't look up.

"You're thirty seconds late," she noted. "I was going to send out a search party –"

"Lois."

Lois looked up. That Bostonian accent didn't belong to Leonard. It belonged to Peter Griffin.

And there he was, sitting in Leonard's usual seat. Lois turned red, frustrated and shocked.

"Peter."

"Hello, Lois."

Lois was completely stunned. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm out of prison."

"Shock."

"I've paid my debt to society. Whatever that means."

"I never got my check. Get out of his chair," Lois demanded.

"You aren't wearing your ring."

"I had to sell it. You cost me everything I had, Peter. It was a miracle I held onto that house. But Leonard takes care of that now. Besides, I don't have a husband anymore. You must've gotten the papers."

"It was… it was my last day…" Peter's voice finally faltered. Lois felt a pang of guilt, but soon she was back to her cold, hollow self.

"I told you I'd write," Lois replied heartlessly.

Peter gestured to the nearest waitress, who happened to be Cassandra, in a strapless gold gown. Lois gaped at her. It'd been near a year since they'd seen each other, and she was worse for the wear. Cassandra was stunning, but she looked like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

"What can I get for – oh my God, Mr. Griffin!" Cassandra spat out, just as shocked as Lois.

"Whiskey and –" Peter stared at Lois. Lois was too busy drinking in the sight of Cassandra to notice. " – Eh, another whiskey."

Cassandra hurriedly ran off to get the drinks, her stiletto heels clacking like a horse's hooves. Lois sighed. Pretty, but no concept of propriety. She'd never had a sense of propriety.

_"Oh Mrs. Griffin, you have NO IDEA how badly I wanna… I wanna just be with him," Cassandra slurred drunkenly, on the night of their last meeting. Lois was holding her hair back as she puked into the downstairs toilet._

_"That's great, dear, but shouldn't you be going to your mom's place?" Lois asked._

_"…I moved out," Cassandra admitted. She looked around nervously, looking for anyone who could overhear._

_"Meg's not home," Lois informed her. "Neither is Chris, and Stewie's asleep."_

_"She kicked me out," Cassandra murmured, wiping vomit from the corner of her mouth. She looked like hell. Lois knew why. Ever since Peter was arrested, her whole life had been collapsing. First Brian, her only real friend besides Meg, moved to parts unknown after Lois kicked him out. Quagmire, her worst enemy, seemed to transfer his feelings towards Lois towards her. She'd graduated and failed to get into any college. And now this._

_"…Why?" Lois asked._

_"Well… she found out who I was going to try and ask out." Cassandra laughed nervously. "And… let's just say… she was less than pleased. Called me a whore. But it's all right. I have enough money for an apartment in Boston."_

_Cassandra puked again. Lois shuddered._

_"It's not all right! Who the HELL would offend your liberal hippie-assed mom?"_

_Cassandra's eyes darted around._

_"…I shouldn't tell."_

_And she passed out._

When Cassie left, Lois returned her aggravated attention to Peter.

"You're, eh… the museum looks great. I don't know anything about any of those box-art things. It all looks like crap to me, but everything looks all fancy and great," Peter informed her.

Lois' eyes narrowed. "Was your conversation always this poor?"

Peter, wounded, frowned. "I came here for you. I need to move on with my life… and you need to be there with me."

"You're an abusive drunk," Lois said pointedly. "And you've met too many people like you."

Peter's turn to narrow his eyes. "I bet Leonard doesn't make you laugh."

"He doesn't make me cry," Lois countered. "And that's all that matters now."

"Listen. You don't love me anymore, fine," Peter suddenly erupted. Cassandra, who'd brought back the drinks, slyly put them on the table and walked away quickly, to avoid the scene. "Fine. I'll have to live with that. You're gonna want someone else. But please, for the love of God, not some pretentious ass like HIM."

"Spoken like a true ex-husband," Lois spat.

"Since when did you engage in verbal wordplay?" Peter asked cautiously.

"…What?"

"Hmm?"

Lois flinched. Peter hit a nerve there. They used to argue a lot, but never so pointedly, or so… Gilmore Girls-esque.

But then she thought for a second. There was definitely something up. For Peter to know about Leonard… that wasn't like him. It took him weeks to catch on to things.

_Peter sat, watching American Idol. He sat and sat, waiting, until…_

"_Where's Kelly Clarkson?"_

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Lois asked, out of concern. It was possible that Peter was just drunk, and despairing. He looked almost as bad as Cassandra. Peter hadn't said anything harmful or suggestive. Just desperate.

"Oh. I know what I'm doing."

Peter's certainty in the matter sent a chill rattling down Lois' spine.

"What ARE you doing?" a voice muttered.

Peter looked upwards. Leonard Cornfeathers, a Native American man in a finely tailored suit and weathered features, was glaring at him.

"Catching up," Lois offered. "Leonard, this is my ex-husband Peter Griffin."

"Hello," Peter said, offering his hand with much effort. Leonard returned the handshake in a similarly strained manner.

"Peter spotted me while walking through the restaurant and –"

"Is that right?" Leonard cut her off, still glaring at Peter. Peter gulped.

"…It was a bit of a shock to see her, honestly," Peter admitted. Lois was amazed at how easily Peter said it. He was a terrible liar, so maybe he was shocked. But it seemed like he'd planned the whole meeting. Lois' mind was swimming.

"Of all the gin joints in all the world," Leonard quoted wistfully. "You were in prison recently, weren't you?"

"Just released a few weeks ago," Peter admitted. "It's a blemish on my record."

"Obviously," Leonard said coolly.

Peter got the hint. "I just stopped to say hi to Lois. I'll be on my way."

Peter picked up his whiskey and began to leave, but Leonard put a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you staying in the Grand Cherokee, Peter?" Leonard asked, in fake joviality.

"Um, actually… yeah," Peter responded stupidly.

"I know about everything that happens in my hotels," Leonard hissed in a low voice to Peter.

"…Should I put the towels back then?" Peter asked, his voice quavering.

Leonard sighed. "The towels you can keep. Lois…"

The two men looked back at her. The quizzical look on her face only confirmed Leonard's suspicions.

"Lois is something you CAN'T keep."

Peter nodded and walked away, trembling with fear. Lois watched him walk away, desperate and confused thoughts muddling her brain. She turned to Leonard, who was taking Peter's seat.

Taking his own seat.

"I'm sorry," Lois gasped out, surprised at how agitated she sounded.

"Don't be," Leonard responded quickly.

A/N: This chapter was really hard to write. The original scene in Ocean's Eleven involved a lot of witty repartee that Peter could never pull off as a character. Lois could match Julia Roberts, but a lot of thought went into how Peter handled himself in this scene. The addition of Cassandra was changed after I realized Lois seeing Brian as well would completely derail the scene's effect.

A/N 2: Please read and review – I know a lot of you are reading! (Story Stats are fun.)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy or Ocean's Eleven.


	12. Zerga's Deal

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #11: Zerga's Deal**

Earlier that evening, Herbert had situated himself at the high roller's table, rubbing elbows with Japanese businessmen, stuffy British lords, and noveau riche American idiots. Herbert's calm demeanor had made him a favorite amongst the pit bosses in no time.

Just as Herbert had planned. When he asked the pit boss, Bruce, if he could speak to Mr. Leonard Cornfeathers himself, Bruce was so impressed with his ease of conversation that he summoned Cornfeathers himself.

Leonard was a bit more wary, however.

"Why did you radio me, again?" Leonard asked as he stood outside the open door to the plush high roller's room, where every whim of the occupants was attended to.

"Well, that nice older man over there," Bruce said in his easygoing voice. He used to be a performance artist, but he'd gotten lots of jobs in the past five years. Pit boss was one that managed to stick. "His name's Lymon Zerga. He's really calming – so I'd talk to him just for that. But he wants to talk to you privately."

"And… who is he?"

"He's a European businessman. We were a little confused by his Hawaiian drivers' license, but he's a big arms dealer, and he has been for about ten years."

"I've never heard of him."

"I think that's why I'm not worried about it."

Leonard had to agree. Hearing of an arms dealer was a fate worse than death for those kinds of businessmen. Leonard nodded politely to Bruce and walked into the high roller's room.

uUuUu

"Did you hear who's been persona non grata-ed?"

Cassandra slammed her head onto the drink counter. "Ryan, for the last time, I DON'T CARE about that black-haired Mafia spy –"

"Oh, not her." Ryan grinned wickedly. "I would've thought you'd be glad about this… oh well."

Cassandra's breath caught in her throat.

"Anyway, it's that Peter Griffin guy."

Meg, next to the tap beer, dropped a glass she was washing.

"My DAD was here?!" she screeched.

Cassandra blinked. "Meg… you're really dumb sometimes."

Ryan wrung his hands together in delight. "Oh yes he was. Apparently he pissed off Leonard Cornfeathers pretty badly, so there are rumors that he's been PNGed."

"Rumors?" Cassandra sighed. "So you don't know?"

"Well, every time there's rumors, it actually happens," Ryan informed her. "And there are rumors about another man about the Grand Cherokee. They say he's in love with you and that he wants to go out with you."

Cassandra brushed some hair out of her face. "Go away before I break your head open."

Ryan did as told, sulking from yet another rejection.

Meg walked up to Cassandra, who was now serving a tourist couple some fancy cocktail concoctions. "Do you think it's true?"

"If Ryan knows about it, it's gonna be true soon," Cassandra murmured. Much as she wanted to believe it wasn't, she knew that Leonard wasn't going to look kindly on Peter speaking to Lois.

Meg could read Cassandra easily, however.

"You're relieved, aren't you?" Meg asked.

She handed the pina coladas to the two Midwestern tourists before turning to Meg.

"…Yeah. I am," Cassandra said. "You figured it out a long time ago, didn't you? Nearly two years ago."

"Yeah, I figured it out," Meg nodded. "You did a good job of covering it. But I could just tell."

_Cassandra had all of Meg's friends enthralled. Meg, for one, was glad. Usually slumber parties at the Griffin household ended in disaster, but Cassandra was so good with handling the rest of the family that everyone was having a great time. And now Cassandra was telling horrific dating stories that had everyone on the verge of tears. Laughter came in gales._

_"So anyway, I walked up to my blonde Adonis, who was so shocked that he'd put his pants on correctly that he'd fallen on his ass…"_

_Meg laughed hysterically. Cassandra's story about trying to ask out Chris never got old._

_"…And I asked him if he wanted to do something later that day. He stared at me for a minute, wet his pants, and assumed I gave him a disease."_

_The girls were laughing so hard they were crying. Cassandra sat back, relaxed and poised. Meg grinned at her. _

_"Great story," Meg complimented her. "Tell the love potion story."_

_Cassandra narrowed her eyes, turned red, and glared at Meg. "There's nothing there to tell."_

_Meg gaped at her for a few seconds before faking a smile. "Oh. Of course."_

Cassandra closed up the bar, writing on a sign that she'd be back in fifteen minutes. The two girls walked across the floor of the Grand Cherokee, taking in all the lights and the rhythmic clanking of slot machines and the shuffle of old people walking around the floor with their walkers in front of them. The place was filled with wondrous sights… but most of the time, Meg and Cassie didn't notice them, self-absorbed as they were.

"I don't know how much longer I can hide it," Cassandra admitted. "And lately he's been… well, he's gone absolutely insane. Drinking at eleven in the morning, treating me halfway decently…"

"Then don't."

"No," Cassie said quickly, staring up at a security camera a few feet away from her. "...There's always someone watching, after all."

"That's not the real reason, is it?" Meg pressed.

Cassie stopped walking, and turned to face Meg. "No. It's not. Think about it. It's like… Alice and the White Rabbit. The Rabbit antagonizes Alice at every turn, running away from her, being a general nuisance. Alice chases it because she hates it so much, but she needs to know why it's so irritating. Now imagine Alice realizes that the Rabbit loves her. And she's always loved the Rabbit, but they can't change, not now, not now that they've hated each other so publicly, and it's just impossible to even contemplate! Imagine what everyone would say! My own MOTHER kicked me out for saying I wanted to ask him out - imagine what would happen to me when they find out that Cassie wants to fuck Glen!"

Cassandra slowly put a hand to her mouth. Tears welling in her eyes, she ran away, into the abyss of the casino, where Meg couldn't possibly hope to find her.

rRrRr

"What can I do for you, Mr. Zerga?"

Herbert looked around the security hallway. It was bright white. Not much in the way of decoration, but Herbert didn't expect Pollock to be splashed on the walls.

"Well… it's about Saturday night."

Leonard grinned. "Ah yes. The fight. Should be a real treat. I can get you some tickets –"

"No, no," Herbert murmured, waving his hand indifferently, leaning on an oak cane. Leonard glanced at it – he hadn't even noticed the man's walking implement. Zerga was quite the man.

"I don't enjoy plebian shows of testosterone," Herbert explained. "I have a suitcase coming for me that night. The contents of it are extremely valuable to me."

"Our house safe is –"

"See, this is why I wanted to speak to you in private," Herbert continued. "Because the house safe is for bottles of Opus One and Tiffany wedding rings. I need something more secure."

"Our house safe, I assure you, is up to snuff," Leonard responded curtly.

Herbert was just as curt in response. "And I can assure you that if you help me with this, you will not go unrewarded." He stared at Leonard. The two understood each other. "Now… what can you offer me besides the house safe?"

dDdDd

In the confines of the fake safe, Brian and Cleveland were watching Stewie. He stood on top of a metal cash cart in the center of the room, which was large and hexagonal. Stewie was aiming to jump atop of a cash cabinet a good ten feet away – not to mention about four feet taller than the cash cart.

"Ten says he shorts it," Cleveland muttered to Brian.

"Twenty," Brian replied.

Stewie jumped, flipping upward and landing, rump-first, atop the cash cabinet. Brian's face soured.

xXxXx

"Just got two fight night tickets!" Quagmire informed the group gathered within the penthouse. The group consisted of a shell-shocked Meg, who was talking to a suspicious Connie; Stewie, who was playing Jenga with Brian; Peter; and Neil Goldman, who was watching the cameras.

"…where is everybody?" Quagmire wondered.

"Well, Chris is with Lois at home," Peter explained, "Joe is checking his bomb placement one more time, Frank is dealing blackjack downstairs, and Herbert's pretending to be Lemon."

"Lymon," Neil corrected him off-handedly.

Meg took one look at Quagmire and blanched, unable to say anything. Connie glared at him.

"What did I do NOW?" Quagmire asked irritably.

"Cassandra Buchem." Connie was seething. "Really. You had to hit on her."

"…Yeah, I love her," Quagmire said blankly before taking his jacket off, throwing it near the Jenga tower. Stewie started screaming at Quagmire to watch what he was doing.

Connie crossed her arms, standing up. "That stiffness you feel when you see her cans isn't love."

"I think I know that," Quagmire spat, taking off his shirt. It, too, went flying towards the Jenga tower. Now Brian was in on the screaming. Quagmire retreated into his room of the penthouse. Connie followed him through the oak door, slamming it behind her.

"…I'm not going to do you," Quagmire informed Connie blankly.

"I don't want you to," Connie retorted. "But if you involve that stupid whore in this business, the whole operation is going to fall apart. You can't win back Lois for Peter while trying to get Cassie."

"They told me to distract her –"

"_She's fallen in love with you!_"

Quagmire, shirtless and in the process of undoing his belt, stared at Connie, wild-eyed. Her hair was tousled about, her expression livid. Evidently, she was serious.

"How stupid can you be?" Connie choked out before walking out of the small bedroom, closing the door behind her. Quagmire heard her head hit the back of the door and knew she'd sat down on the ground, arms around her legs, ready to snap.

He wondered what could've possibly happened to –

Meg. She looked pale. Shaken. Cassandra had let something slip, that had to be what had –

Quagmire threw some sort of t-shirt on and walked out the door to see Joe, dripping with sewage, screaming at the top of his lungs unintelligibly.

"What the hell happened?" Quagmire shrieked.

Peter whirled around, white as a sheet.

"We're royally screwed, that's what," he responded.

A/N: I wrote that speech Cassandra gives nearly three months ago. It was just a matter of placing it in the story. Once again, I used the f-word for emphasis and to signify Cassandra's emotional breakdown. Her character doesn't curse unless under extreme duress or when extremely angry (i.e., the Academy Awards flashback).

A/N 2: Bruce the performance artist! YAAAY!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy or Ocean's Eleven. If I did, why would I ever combine them?


	13. Problems Beget More Problems

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #12: Problems Beget More Problems**

"We're truly done for," Joe muttered after he'd been thoroughly hosed down by Peter and Brian. Quagmire, in a white t-shirt and boxers, sat down next to Brian and Stewie (who was in his onesie pajamas) near the coffee table. The Jenga tower tilted ominously in front of them. Meg, in a nightgown, and Connie, in banged-up jeans and a sports bra, sat on the ground by the kitchenette. Neil stayed at the computer station.

"You've been saying that," Brian murmured, "but you won't say why."

"Well… the demolition crew that's supposed to be blowing up that old casino downtown? They didn't use a coaxial lynch back to the mainline. They onioned the mainframe couplet." Joe sighed.

"I know you think you're explaining yourself, but I graduated high school by sleeping with the principal's secretary," Quagmire stated.

"They blew the backup grid one by one. That power outage at, like, two am yesterday? That was them. But now they know their weakness. They're fixing it as we speak. I was lucky to be in uniform, otherwise I'd've been arrested," Joe informed them. "We can't use that sewer entrance anymore."

"And we have great news, too," Connie spat. "If Quagmire goes any further with Cassie, who he was supposed to be distracting, there's a danger that she'll find out about what's going on. She already suspects stuff, and she's completely infatuated. She'll try to find a whore in Quagmire's room and find the whole damn operation instead."

"She thinks Quagmire's gone insane," Meg clarified, "and her being in love with him doesn't jeopardize us quite as badly as Connie thinks it does. But her thinking he's lost it is dangerous. She suspects something's up."

Stewie and Brian glanced at each other.

"Well… the cameras picked up something rather intriguing last night. When Peter talked to Lois, and Leonard appeared to threaten him," Brian added.

"We knew about that one," Joe said. "We're just waiting for the verdict."

The group sat in silence.

"At least Herbert hasn't been called out," Stewie mused. "And, as far as we know, we're just worrying about Cassandra for no reason."

"But we need to do something about the power," Peter countered. "Without losing the power, we can't do this."

The group thought.

"We could –" Stewie thought aloud.

As if reading his mind, Brian cut in. "But Saturday is two days away."

The two went back to thinking.

Neil, taking a break from typing, wheeled towards the group in his swivel chair. "You know, you could use a pinch."

Brian grabbed Neil by the collar. "Tell me now."

Neil, voice choked, began to explain. "A pinch is like a bomb without the explosion. See, every time a nuclear weapon detonates, it sends out an electromagnetic pulse that shuts down any power source in the vicinity. It doesn't quite matter in the case of nuclear bombs, because we all know that you aren't going to be worried about working your computer while your skin is melting off –"

"Get to the point, Neil!" Meg screamed.

"Anyway, a pinch recreates the electromagnetic pulse present in the nuclear bomb without the nuclear bomb. So, instead of Hiroshima, you get… say… medieval times?"

"…So it'd take out the power?" Joe asked.

"For about ten seconds, yeah," Neil responded as Brian let go of his collar. Peter's eyes were wide with happiness.

"Could a pinch… could it take out the power to a city like Boston?" Peter wondered.

"There's only one pinch in the world that could do it," Neil admitted sadly.

"Well, let's get it," Quagmire muttered, grabbing for his wallet, which was by the Jenga tower. Stewie began to fuss about it again. "How much -?"

"…That's the problem," Neil interrupted. "We can't really… purchase it."

sSsSs

Cassandra showed up to work the next morning ready to shoot herself. She'd gone and shouted about her love in the middle of the casino floor. Where anyone could hear. If God had any mercy, He'd murder her on the spot.

She slumped over on the bar, her hair tied into a messy ponytail. It was sticking straight into the air.

"You look lovely."

Cassandra looked up. The last person she wanted to see was staring at her with those narrow, unreadable eyes.

"Shut up, Glen," Cassandra frowned. "Not in the mood."

"But the fight is in two days. Aren't you excited for it?" Quagmire asked.

"Not at all," Cassandra responded.

"Well, Peter and I are looking forward to it," Quagmire said in a huff. He turned to walk away.

"Peter's been PNGed. We got word last night during the graveyard shift."

Quagmire whipped around and sat down at the bar, placing his face a centimeter or so from Cassandra's. "What did you just say?"

"Cornfeathers banned him from the hotel. God only knows why," Cassandra sighed. "It doesn't matter. I bet he tried to go after Lois. But he's better off moving on. Girls like that… no one understands them." She paused. "All guys see is how beautiful they are. Not the sadness and the desperation behind the beauty."

Quagmire hesitated before taking his hand and turning Cassandra's face upward. She looked really good, eyeshadow streaked across her eyelids perfectly, green eyes wide with melancholy.

"It isn't hard to see that now," Quagmire said honestly.

"You're just saying that because you want me to sleep with you," Cassandra muttered, getting up and turning away. "I suppose I should ask you what you want to drink."

"It appears I have one more ticket to the fight than I need, then," Quagmire murmured. Damn it. One more problem for the group to deal with.

"Ask a hooker or something," Cassandra shrugged. She was beyond caring.

"Nah. It's not a hooker kind of event," Quagmire joked. "But I would like to take you."

"Because THAT will go well," Cassandra snorted.

"No, seriously."

Cassandra filled a glass with Pawtucket Patriot ale and put it in front of Quagmire. He pushed it aside and leaned towards Cassandra again.

"Stop fucking around, Cassandra," Quagmire said in what Cassandra had since dubbed his "serious voice". Cassandra turned as red as a cherry, recalling a number of workplace fantasies. "I'm not taking no for an answer this time."

There was an awkward pause. Cassandra backed away and pushed the ale towards Quagmire.

"Please," she whispered.

Quagmire wasn't going to be deterred that easily, and Cassandra knew it.

"Why the hell are you doing this?" Quagmire asked.

"Is it so hard to believe that I don't have any feeling for –?"

"So you lied to Meg."

Cassandra froze.

"…Did she tell you?"

Quagmire figured a lie was in order. "Every word. She was sick of watching us fight all the time. Which is why I'm here at seven-thirty in the morning, when no one else is around to mess this up for me."

Cassandra turned around, her mouth contorted into a forced scowl.

Quagmire ignored the blatant show Cassandra was trying to put on. "I'll ask again. Why the hell are you doing this?"

Cassandra stood back at the bar, taking the ale away and putting it on the ground. She stared at him for a while.

"Cornfeathers is watching, you know," Cassandra informed him.

"That's not the reason."

"My mom kicked me out when she found out I wanted to ask you out. I figured everyone would react that way. So I pretended to hate you. I didn't think you'd end up asking me out every day," Cassandra said.

Quagmire grinned. "Do you still talk to your mother?"

"Not at all."

"There's no reason to not go to the fight with me."

"There's a lot of reasons."

Quagmire put his hand on the back of Cassandra's head. She raised an eyebrow.

"I'm sick of this," Quagmire admitted, and before Cassandra could relent, Quagmire had kissed her. She resisted at first, a reflex that had served her well with Quagmire in the past. But then she gave in and let him kiss her. Her eyes fluttered closed, and inwardly, she celebrated.

They didn't pull away until Meg smacked Quagmire over the head with a drink serving tray a good twenty minutes later.

qQqQq

Meanwhile, Connie found herself being shoved into the back of one of the nondescript Astrovans by Brian, as Chris, Peter, Stewie, and Neil dove in after her. As Brian took the wheel and Stewie got shotgun, Peter began turning a hand-crank that lowered a ramp down from the back of the van. Joe swiftly boarded the ramp, and Peter took a few minutes to crank the ramp back up into the bed of the van. Connie had to slide over to allow room for Joe.

"So… what are we doing again?" Connie asked derisively, noticing that she was the only female in the van.

"We're kidnapping you," Stewie replied drolly.

"We're getting the pinch from MIT," Brian replied honestly.

Connie's jaw dropped. "MIT. MIT agreed to let you have the pinch."

There was an awkward silence. Connie's jaw dropped further.

"You're stealing from MIT."

"Well, we figured… why not?" Neil shrugged. "Besides, everyone knows that Thursday is MIT's party night. We can run in and take the pinch right now, while everyone has a raging hangover."

"…MIT has a party night?" Connie asked incredulously.

"Sweetheart, every school has a party night," Peter said condescendingly. "Even Mount Saint Mary's Catholic Girls College."

_Three blonde teenaged girls stared out the window of their dormitory, down at the mess of red goop on the quad below. They were trembling and red-faced._

_"Do you think they'll notice the watermelon on the ground?" one asked._

_"…Dear God, spare us the wrath of RN Michelson tomorrow," one prayed sincerely._

"Yeah, sure," Connie muttered. The rest of the car trip was covered in relative silence. Connie stared at the van's wide interior: some benches attached to the western and eastern sides of the car, so people could sit, reflected off of the dim lamp light. Some sort of licorice dispenser was placed on the ceiling of the car, right by the driver and passenger's seats. Stewie was operating it rather deftly. Licorice rope was coiled within a small ceiling-mounted bubble, and Stewie pulled rope sections out of the bubble and used a mounted razor blade to sever the licorice strings.

Other than that, there wasn't a whole lot to look at, besides the darkly carpeted ground or the whitewashed car walls around her.

Connie reflected on the events of the morning. So much was going completely wrong. This was supposed to be much smoother… much more normal…

Much less like her everyday life.

The car rolled along, leaving Connie to muse on the collapse of her life.

A/N: I don't know how Jenga became a staple in Stewie and Brian's life, but it's one of the few games I've never seen the Griffin family play on the actual show. I guess I subconsciously love Jenga?

A/N 2: The last time you'll see the F-word in this story. I promise.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy or Ocean's Eleven.


	14. Adventures in Pinch Pinching

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #13: Adventures in Pinch-Pinching**

The car finally rolled to a stop in one of the many MIT parking lots. The back door flung open as Joe's ramp lowered itself to the ground. Peter and Chris jumped out of the car, Neil not far behind. Connie stretched out her arms. Finally, some movement.

She moved to get out of the car, but Joe, now on the ground, wheeled in front of her. "Connie, you're gonna have to stay."

Connie blinked before laughing. "That's all right, Joe, I think I can handle it."

"You can't," Joe said point-blank.

"…I really think I can."

"No, you can't handle it."

"But I really think –"

"YOU CAN'T HANDLE IT!" Joe yelled before Peter closed the van doors, leaving Connie in the back. She began to choke up before realizing that Brian and Stewie were staring at her from the front seat.

"…Were you going to cry?" Brian asked.

"No," Connie replied defensively.

Stewie crawled over the seat and into the back with Connie. "You know, you seem like a total bitch sometimes, but right now you seem almost… sub-human."

"I get the gist of what you're saying, Stewie," Connie admitted, "but I wasn't crying."

"And you're back to being a total bitch," Stewie muttered, walking back over to the seat. He tried to jump over onto the cushion, but only succeeded in falling backwards.

"How cute," Connie murmured softly.

"Total bitch!" Stewie screamed as he impaled himself on the seat's armrest. Brian laughed the whole time, watching Stewie try – and fail – to get back into his chair. Slowly, Connie's face changed from one of slight amusement to one of sheer boredom.

iIiIi

"Face it, Stewie, you'll never be able to kill Lois."

"I will! Someday I will slam that vile woman's head through a wood chipper!"

"And who told you to do that? The Coen Brothers?"

"Shut up, dog!"

Connie buried her face in her hands.

jJjJj

"So, Brian… have you ever had, like, weird homoerotic dreams?"

"…What?"

"Homoerotic dreams. Apparently, according to Freud, they're a part of normal sexual development in a child."

"Stewie, I don't think that's what Freud said at all."

"Isn't visions of deviant types of sexual activity good in Freud's book?"

"That's a sign of mental disorders and sexual dysfunction."

"…Do I need help, Brian?"

"I think you just need to admit you're gay and move on with your life."

"I'm not gay!"

"Yeah, all right."

Connie's body began to twitch uncontrollably.

dDdDd

"So, it's the end of the world, and you've survived."

"How the hell did I survive?"

"Hold on, Brian. You survived… and so did two other women. So, who would you pick to repopulate the earth with: Meg or your ex-girlfriend Traci?"

Connie shoved a bobby pin into the back door's lock, finally jostling it open. Connie escaped before she had to listen to any more of Brian and Stewie's existential talks on gayness, love, shit jokes, or anything else.

uUuUu

Joe and the pinch began levitating up on the ramp again. The theft was relatively smooth, he thought; he'd never have imagined that such a group of idiots could pull of the high-profile heist. As Neil jumped back into the van, he offered a hand to Chris, who warmly accepted it. Before long, everyone was back into the van.

"We all good?" Brian asked. "Everyone?"

A chorus of affirmatives rang out. Stewie peered over the seat, looking for something, before he narrowed his eyes.

"Where'd bitch girl go?" Stewie asked.

Brian turned to look into the back of the van. "…Peter, where's Connie?"

An alarm from outside told the group all they needed to know. Connie jumped into the back of the van, slammed the door shut, eyes wide, and Brian peeled out of the parking lot.

"You stupid bitch!" Stewie screamed as Brian proceeded to laugh his ass off.

A/N: I know, it's a really short chapter, but I got to write a lot of Brian and Stewie interaction. I had at least ten little vignettes for this chapter planned out, and my favorite three made it in. The first one, well, the Coen brothers pretty much cemented the joke. The second one was born out of my assigned college reading – Freud's book "Dora". The third one has its root in a popular game at my old high school. Basically, you were given a category, and you'd pick someone that fell into that category to be your end of the world partner. A few that didn't get in involved jokes about Brian's son Dylan, baseball (the joke was waaay too obscure, but for baseball fans, it involved Prince Fielder as a punchline), Brian joking about taking Stewie away from the Griffins (taken out after what happened in California, with them finding a girl after her being missing for 18 years), and the Mac ads with Justin Long.

A/N 2: Hopefully I'll start updating this regularly again. College is a lot harder than I expected. (sweatdrop)

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy or Ocean's Eleven.


	15. PNGed

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #14: PNG**

Quagmire was waiting for the pinch-stealing group by the time he got back. He couldn't believe it. He poured himself a martini as the door clicked open, and a frightened Connie ran in, being chased by an angry Joe.

"I TOLD YOU TO STAY IN THE CAR!"

"YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT WAS LIKE IN THERE!" Connie screamed in response, hiding in one of the suite's side rooms. Quagmire took a sip of the martini, eyes cold. Things just… didn't make sense at the moment. But it was Peter, after all. Maybe it wasn't supposed to make sense! Maybe shooting the plan to ribbons was all part of the deal! Peter, that stupid jackass! Quagmire fumed silently.

"Hey, Quagmire," Peter smiled, waving.

Quagmire glared in response. "Peter, we have a rather large problem to take care of."

Brian and Stewie trailed in, sitting on the floor by the coffee table.

"Large problem?" Brian echoed. "What do you mean?"

Quagmire drained the martini as Chris walked in with Neil.

"Uh, Mr. Quagmire, I thought we all agreed that there'd be no drinking until at least one," Chris said cautiously. "Remember what happened last week?"

_Quagmire woke up slowly in the midst of the trashed suite. He rubbed his head uneasily, noticing that he was covered in sweat and dribbles of blood. He glanced over to Frank._

_"Frank?" Quagmire called out. Frank was passed out in the kitchenette. Quagmire narrowed his eyes in confusion before looking over the counter at Peter, who was sleeping on a pile of discarded lingerie, boxers, shirts, you name it, it was there. His mouth was bleeding profusely. Quagmire dashed over to Peter._

_"Peter, wake up, wake up!" Quagmire called, shaking him. Peter came to slowly before leaning up. _

_"Oh my God, my head…" Peter moaned. "How WASTED were we?"_

_"Your mouth is… it's…" Quagmire said in horror._

_Peter stood up uneasily, dribbled a little puke down his front, and slowly walked over to a mirror on the far left wall, which was hanging precariously, swinging back and forth on its upper-left corner. Peter glanced at himself in it before screaming. "OH MY GOD I'M MISSING A TOOTH!"_

_A door slammed somewhere else in the suite. Frank ran out into the main room of the suite._

_"Guys… there's a tiger in the bathroom," Frank stated, panicked._

"I need a drink," Quagmire said monotonously as Stewie watched him. He was completely emotionless… Peter had only seen Quagmire this mad once, and that was after he'd lost his job as a pilot.

"Peter, you've been PNGed," Quagmire said.

Connie ran around the corner and stopped, the deathly seriousness of the situation getting to her immediately. Joe wheeled in, still pissed, not knowing what was happening.

"CONNIE, NEVER LEAVE MY SIGHT –"

"SHUT UP!" Quagmire screeched. Joe's eyes widened before he wheeled into the kitchenette, to avoid a confrontation. "PNGed. What the HELL did you do?!"

Chris blinked. "Dad's a woman?!"

Neil sighed. "Peter's been banned from the casino. PNG is short for _persona non grata_, a Latin term meaning 'a person without merit' or 'a person not in good graces'. Basically, when Peter leaves this room and goes down to the floor, he will be kicked out of the Grand Cherokee."

"No bloody way," Stewie choked, aghast.

Connie's breathing became erratic. Brian thought she might begin to cry again. "…How did you find this out?"

"Cassandra told me," Quagmire said. "And if the drink servers know, chances are every other casino employee knows too."

"At which point did you shove your tongue down her throat?" Stewie asked sarcastically.

Brian ignored Stewie. "We need to meet with everyone," Brian stated sternly. He glanced at Quagmire. "Now."

pPpPp

Quagmire couldn't believe he was back at the strip bar from Hand #2. He'd been certain that if he ended up with Cassie, he'd never have to return to the joint. But it was the only place to have a meeting of the crew without looking suspicious.

So, once again, Griffin's Eleven was holed up in the back room of the seedy card-and-stripper haven. Herbert, not dressed in his Lymon Zerga attire, but rather in a bathrobe and pinstriped pajama pants, was sleeping, resting his head on one of the tables in the back room. Chris poked Herbert's head nervously. Meg was dressed in her Grand Cherokee uniform, having left on her break. Frank had the day off. Quagmire drained his fourth martini of the morning – so much for not drinking. Connie looked pale and confused, electing to come in the guise of her alter ego Charmaine Resendes. Peter was twiddling his thumbs. Neil was just as aggravated as Quagmire, but his drink of choice remained Mountain Dew. Joe pretended to be absorbed with a shock absorber on his wheelchair. Stewie had dozed off in Brian's lap. All were seated around a wooden table, the haze of cigarette smoke settling over their heads. All around, illegal card games were flourishing. Meg noticed that Zack Murdock, the blonde with gambling problems, was participating.

_How far we have fallen, _she thought sadly.

"So, Brian has called a meeting," Quagmire said coldly. "I'll let him take over while I try to kill myself."

"Because that's what Cassie wants you to do," Meg muttered audibly. Quagmire shattered his glass in shock.

Brian cleared his throat. He would stand up, but Stewie had practically latched himself onto the canine. He was rather cute when sleeping. Brian reminded himself of the reason for that: he didn't talk in his sleep.

"All right, guys. Peter's been PNGed," Brian explained.

Frank and Meg gasped. Peter, who somehow managed to remain as idiotic as ever, frowned.

"My whispering eye is not bleeding, Brian," Peter countered, eyes narrowed.

Brian glared at him. "You've been banned from entering the Grand Cherokee."

"Oh my God. It's true," Meg said, voice choked. "That asshole Ryan was right."

"Asshole Ryan? Is he anything like the Ryan who used to take piano lessons from Lois?" Brian wondered.

_Lois stared impatiently at the sandy-haired blonde running through the Griffin household, trying on every hat in sight while singing loudly._

_"Bop, bop, bop, bop to the top!" he sang in a rich tenor, dancing on the kitchen table. Lois crossed her arms._

_"Ryan Evans…" she muttered._

"No. This one's just a dick," Quagmire said plainly, trying to get the shattered glass into one convenient pile.

Brian's focus returned. "Anyway, there's only one logical thing to do in this situation. Peter's out."

"Out," Joe repeated.

Neil pulled out his inhaler and took a whiff.

"Peter… out? He CAN'T be out!" Connie looked to be on the verge of a mental breakdown. "This… this HAS to work! He can't be out, we need to – we need to think of a way to keep going – he doesn't have to be OUT, I mean, out, why does he -?"

Meg glanced at Connie. A light bulb flickered on in Meg's head. If the con was off, Connie had nowhere to go – and the chances of her being found and turned in would increase exponentially. Meg put her hand on Connie's.

"We're not going to stop now," Meg said. "We're in too deep to stop."

Brian nodded solemnly. "We need to figure out how to replace Peter and still get the scam off the ground."

"Impossible," Joe murmured. "Peter has the biggest role."

"I do, don't I?" Peter asked. "God, wonder how that happened?"

"Yeah, why are you always the focus of everything?" Neil asked.

"We can worry about that later," Brian said. Stewie began to stir. "We need someone to replace Peter. Someone who doesn't already have something to do."

"Chris?" Meg offered.

"No, he's on surveillance with Neil," Brian replied.

"Damn it," Neil said under his breath.

The table went silent. Quagmire suddenly smiled.

"It's too easy."

The rest of the group looked at him.

"Maybe in drunk world, it's easy," Connie said harshly. Stewie opened an eye up and took a look at disguised Connie before screaming.

"OH MY GOD WHO IS THAT?! OH MY GOD THERE'S A STRANGE WOMAN –"

Brian's eyes widened, suddenly understanding Quagmire's thought process. Chris took Stewie out of Brian's lap and began rocking him.

"Why are you so fussy?" Chris wondered.

"Why don't you notice THE STRANGE WHORE?!" Stewie screamed.

Connie glanced from Quagmire to Brian, running a finger through her fake brunette locks. "…What're you…?"

"It's too obvious. Connie." Brian smiled warmly at her. "You're the only one who can trigger the vault."

Connie's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Oh no I can't."

"Well, it's either trigger the vault or get turned in," Quagmire countered.

Connie looked quizzically at him. "And how long do I have to prepare?"

"A day," Frank responded.

Connie frowned grimly, like a private in the army accepting his depressing fate.

"Well, then, show me the way," Connie said, voice monotonous and eyes blazing.

A/N: _The Hangover_ was the best movie of the summer, hands down. Hope you enjoyed my strange flashback tribute/parody. It actually grew out of my attempt to write a Family Guy version of it, which backfired horrendously.

A/N 2: Kind of a weird chapter, I know, but it's one of the last chapters before the heist actually starts. So it's transitional.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own FG or Ocean's Eleven.


	16. Truly, Madly, Deeply

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #15: Truly, Madly, Deeply**

Lois Pewterschmidt stared at her reflection in the mirror. She couldn't rid Peter's fearful face from her memory. Leonard had terrified him. And then Peter Griffin was on the PNG list. Just for daring to talk to his ex-wife.

Or so it seemed. Lois couldn't help but think that Peter knew what he was doing. It was as if he was trying to get himself noticed… get himself in trouble.

Lois snorted, washing her face off in the opulent penthouse bathroom. The sink shone brightly in the lamplight, spreading golden reflections over Lois' perfect skin. Peter, having the intelligence to come up with a plan like that? Ridiculous.

Or was it? Peter had always been intelligent when it came to winning her back…

Winning her back?

Lois left Leonard's penthouse, resplendent in a red scoop-neck shirt and tight-fitting acid-wash jeans. Men were staring at her as she wandered onto the floor. She ignored them. There was only one person she wanted to talk to at the moment, much as she disliked the prospect. And there was only one person who would be honest with her.

Lois walked to the bar, where, sure enough, Cassandra Buchem sat on a barstool, cleaning glasses with a glazed-over look in her eyes. Lois paused. Cassandra never zoned out on the job, according to Paddy Tanninger. She was the best employee the Grand Cherokee had – at least, until Ryan Lasseter or Glen Quagmire set off to bother her. Then she had a tendency to throw stuff.

Lois looked up at a video camera a few feet away from the bar. There's always someone watching, she recalled, as she walked up to the bar. Cassandra was lazily cleaning glasses, a stupid grin etched on her face. Lois stood in front of her for a few seconds before putting her hands on her hips.

"Cassie," Lois said loudly. Cassandra jumped a good two feet in the air, dropping the plastic glass she was drying. It rolled beneath the bar.

"Oh! Ms. Pewterschmidt!" Cassandra chirped, shocked. "What are you doing here?"

Lois rolled her eyes. Cassandra was hopeless. "I was just passing by and wondered why you were so… high-looking."

Cassandra turned bright red. "Something… something very good happened."

"Uh-huh," Lois murmured, having a pretty good idea of what that could be. "Something not so good is happening to me. And I need you to be totally honest with me."

Cassandra put down her cleaning rag. "Well, you've helped me in times of need. I'd be a bitch if I didn't do the same."

"You already are a bit of a bitch," Lois muttered.

"What?"

"You'd never be accused of that," Lois covered. "See, Peter's been PNGed."

"Glen told me," Cassandra said. "I'd think you'd be relieved about that."

"I was," Lois informed her. "At least, until – wait, why are you calling him Glen?"

"It's not important," Cassandra murmured, turning even redder. Lois didn't need to ask any more questions.

"When did you two start screwing each other?" Lois asked monotonously. Cassandra turned as red as a beet.

"No! We haven't – no." Cassandra folded her arms over her chest, looking away nervously. "What did you want to tell me anyway? Or did you come to lecture me?"

Lois enjoyed pushing Cassandra's buttons. By asking some random questions, she surmised that Cassandra had moved farther along in her relationship with Quagmire. Maybe they'd be able to hook up at one point, and the both of them would move on to less dangerous obsessions. One less thing for Lois to worry about.

"Well, I can't help but think that Peter's… planning something," Lois said. "He'd be too dumb to plan something normally, but he's always been uncannily driven when it comes to winning me back… or keeping me…"

Cassandra rested her elbows on the bar. "Why are you telling me this?"

"…I figured you'd know something about it."

Cassandra sighed. "The only thing I know is that Glen managed to get me to go to the fight night with him. He's not been acting like the Glen you and I hate. And I know that he's been with Peter a lot."

Lois frowned. "Glen and Peter?"

"And Brian," Cassandra added offhandedly.

Lois furrowed her brow as Cassandra's eyes narrowed in confusion, apparently realizing what she'd just said.

"Wait," Cassandra murmured. "Those three…"

"…This is what I was afraid of," Lois murmured back. "I know Leonard PNGed Peter out of misplaced jealousy… but I think something else is going on."

"Like what? They're all drunks. Drunks with their own agendas," Cassandra countered. "I don't see how Glen and Brian could work together at all."

Lois considered this. Brian had been Cassandra's constant companion after Peter's arrest. That pissed off Quagmire, who tried to get Lois in retaliation. Now that Lois thought about it, Brian and Quagmire should've been bitter enemies.

"But who's to say that Peter didn't patch things up between them?" Lois offered.

Cassandra's eyes widened. "Are you saying… there's a conspiracy?"

Lois rolled her eyes again. Cassandra wasn't the brightest bulb. Thank God for her snarky sarcasm; otherwise someone would've dropped her off a cliff by this point in time.

"No. I'm saying they're planning something," Lois frowned.

"…Glen invited me to the fight night… you think it has something to do with that?"

"Honestly? I think you should just sleep with him and get it over with. You've been so obvious about being in love with him."

Not what Cassandra wanted to hear. She bit her lip and crossed her arms in a huff.

"I still don't understand why you came to me," Cassandra muttered. "Why not talk to Brian, if you're so concerned about it? Or Glen?"

Lois crossed her own arms. "Look up."

Cassandra saw the camera above them. She gulped.

"He sees EVERYTHING. If I talked to either of them, they'd be PNGed too," Lois said. "And I'm tired of being THAT girl."

Lois walked away with more questions reeling in her head than before she talked to Cassandra. She didn't know anything either, but it seemed like her obsession with being Mrs. Glen Quagmire hadn't gone away.

She was going to be wrapped up in her own demented fantasy world for a while. Lois had no one to rely on.

Such had been her life since the arrest and divorce.

uUuUu

Cassandra put a hand to her mouth. Lois had known the whole time. It didn't surprise her in any way. Lois was far more intelligent than she'd ever be. She began to wonder why Quagmire had come onto her so strongly in the past week. Was he just fed up? Was he cracking without sex? Or…

…Was there really something going on?

Cassandra thought about calling Brian, but decided not to. That would just make things worse. She went back to cleaning.

There was silence for a long time.

"…Cassie?"

It was Meg. Cassandra smiled at her.

"Hey Meg," Cassandra responded. Meg looked beat. "What's up with you?"

"I'm really tired," Meg admitted. "I watched Stewie all last night, and then met up with Brian this morning… I got no sleep… then there was the sight of you tongue-raping Mr. Quagmire…"

"I'm sorry," Cassandra said. "That… I got carried away."

Meg shrugged. "I guess I'm happy for you."

"Well, that's better than what everyone else is gonna say," Cassandra countered, "so thank you."

Cassandra felt like she was going to throw up. Lois was a bright woman, an extremely bright woman. If she suspected something, then something was definitely happening. And Cassandra had always let Meg know her fears…

"Meg… I have to ask you something," Cassandra started.

Meg blanched. "I am NOT giving you contraceptives."

"No!" Cassandra turned a bright red, barely concealing her embarrassment. "It has nothing to do with – Never mind. I won't ask."

"…I'm sorry," Meg apologized. Cassandra blinked. She didn't mean to make Meg feel bad. Especially since Meg was her only friend in the world. But Cassandra began to think. She recalled the guys at the Clam used to be a lot of fun. They used to be friends.

_"So, Cassie… heh… are you DRUNK?" Peter asked Cassandra boldly._

_Cassandra, sipping water out of a plastic tumbler at the guys' usual table, narrowed her eyes. "…Oh yeah."_

_Quagmire frowned. "I don't believe you."_

But nowadays, the Clam was always deserted when she went back to it. Cassandra didn't know why she went back. It was like she was trying to recapture something that left a long time ago. She wanted the feel of the Griffin family back. Cassandra, who'd grown up with a Hollywood madam for a mom, identified with Meg, and being accepted into her family was life-changing. All Cassandra had was a mom who hated her and a sister who wasn't allowed to speak to her.

That family was gone. The boys were gone. And even if they did reform, those days were over. Peter was divorced, and she had Quagmire.

"…Meg, do you know why Peter's been hanging around this place?" Cassandra asked.

Meg put her drink tray underneath the bar and began to help Cassandra clean glasses. "I thought I saw him walking around…"

"So you don't know."

"Nope."

"Lois talked to me this morning," Cassandra revealed. "She thought something was going on with him and Glen and Brian."

"Brian?" Meg repeated. "With Mr. Quagmire? Probably getting drunk."

"It makes sense, I know," Cassandra assured her. "But then again, Lois seems to think…"

Meg leaned forward.

"What?"

"Nothing."

_Cassandra stared at Quagmire, arms hanging stiffly at her sides, leaning against the lamppost in front of Quagmire's house. He lit a cigarette impatiently._

_"I got kicked out of my house," Cassandra told him._

_Quagmire blew out a puff of smoke. "Good girl."_

_"I have nowhere to live, you bastard," Cassandra said angrily. "My mom said she'd shoot me if I came anywhere near her or Jean again."_

_"I thought she was pro-gun control," Quagmire noted._

_"The key word there is WAS, apparently," Cassandra responded. The two of them had grown used to the quick banter that characterized their relationship. "And I can't live with the Griffins."_

_"Why not? Aren't you madly in love with Brian?"_

_Smoke hovered over the two's heads._

_"We broke it off," Cassandra admitted. "He helped me through the arrest as a friend. I can't see him as anything more than that. And he can't picture it either."_

_"He's just saying that," Quagmire muttered._

_"He's the one who broke it off," Cassandra countered. "And the last thing we need is for Lois to think we're together. She'd… I don't know. She's been acting weird lately."_

_"Tell me about it."_

_Silence settled on the two. Cassandra looked ready to cry. A solitary tear rolled down her cheek. Quagmire rubbed it out with his thumb._

_"What'd you do that for?" Cassandra asked._

_"I dunno."_

_Cassandra stared into Quagmire's eyes. Another tear fell. And another. And many more. She sat down on the sidewalk, crying and sniffling. Quagmire stamped out his cigarette and sat down with her. He couldn't really continue to wipe her tears away, but he did put an arm around her. To his surprise, she latched on to him. If he'd tried that maybe ten minutes before, he would've gotten punched in the groin. He looked at her hands. They were so tiny._

_"Are you sure you're all right?" Quagmire asked softly._

_A string of unintelligible babble came out._

_"…That doesn't help."_

_More babble. Cassandra was now curled into a ball, basically falling into Quagmire's lap. He stared at her incredulously. He couldn't believe that such the so-called "tough girl" with all the right quips had completely dissolved._

_"…This is about more than getting kicked out, isn't it?"_

_"Can I live with you?"_

_Quagmire's eyes widened to the size of plates. He pulled Cassandra out of his lap, set her on the concrete, and stared at her._

_"…Psh, what?"_

_"Can I live with you?" Cassandra asked again. _

_"…Why the hell would you even WANT to?" Quagmire asked her._

_Cassandra wiped the tears out of her eyes. "I have nowhere else to go, Glen."_

_Quagmire froze, rooted to the sidewalk. She was desperate. He thought for a few seconds, mulling things over in his head._

_"…That would be a bad idea," Quagmire said._

_"I'm homeless."_

_"I realize that. But you're seventeen. I'm a registered sex offender. Do the math, Cassie. Once anyone finds out you're living with me, I'll get arrested, and then you're really screwed."_

_Cassandra smiled weakly. "I guess so." She stood up, a bit wobbly. "I'm going to go see if maybe my mom'll let me come back home."_

_Quagmire stood up with her. "I can come with –"_

_"No. No… I need to do this myself."_

_"All right." He hugged Cassandra lightly. "Take care of yourself."_

_"I'm not leaving forever," Cassandra responded, stepping away quickly. She walked off into the distance, knowing full well she wasn't going to her mom's. She went to the Clam instead and got plastered, later wandering back to Spooner Street, Marianne Dashwood staring into the abode of Willoughby._

_And she cried some more. Quagmire didn't know that, once again, he'd broken some unsuspecting girl's heart._

jJjJj

"You were right about Cassie," Meg told Connie in the suite. Connie was trying on some outfits, for the events of the next day. Obviously she couldn't use Peter's clothes, so Brian and Stewie had spent much of the afternoon visiting clothing shops and getting suitjackets and pencil skirts.

Connie, who was buttoning up a ruffled blue blouse, narrowed her eyes. "What do you mean, right? Everyone knows she's a skank."

"She was never a skank," Meg frowned. "She's never even had a boyfriend."

"She dresses like a –"

Meg narrowed her eyes. "You wanna be the pot or the kettle? Or are you gonna frickin' LISTEN TO ME?"

Connie dropped a shoe on the ground. She'd never heard Meg sound so angry before. Meg sighed. Talking to Connie wasn't a huge problem anymore – the two of them had become friends, mostly through circumstance – but sometimes Connie would get fixated on an idea, and Meg, irritated, had to bring her back to the topic at hand.

"…Sure. What was I right about?" Connie asked, putting on a black knee-length skirt.

Meg took off her glasses to polish them as she sat on the coffee table. "That skirt looks good. You were right about… about her knowing. I don't think anything clicked earlier, but now that Mr. Quagmire and her are linked up –"

"But she told me herself –" Connie protested.

_Cassie stopped in her tracks. "…I wonder… is this about Lois Pewterschmidt?"_

_And then she walked away, a surreptitious grin on her face._

"Connie, you don't know Cassie like I do," Meg admitted. "She was trying to get you riled up." Meg paused, turning red. Connie stared at her.

"What?"

"Well… she only said that because she… she used to think…" Meg cut off. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't tell."

Connie crossed her arms. "Tell me now, or I'll toss you out the window."

"Cassie used to think you were bisexual," Meg blurted out, as Connie edged towards her. Meg noticed something snap in Connie's brain, and her eyes widened, as if in shock. Connie stopped walking just as Meg got off the coffee table.

"…She… she knew about that?" Connie said in a stifled voice.

"You are, then?" Meg asked.

"…Yeah. But only Katy knew that."

Meg wasn't going to ask who Katy was. The underlying conceit here was far scarier. Meg bit her lip. Cassandra said that Lois had come to her, suspicious. And Cassandra herself was becoming suspicious. Lois was superbly intelligent; Cassandra, while slightly dumb and prone to fits of misplaced anger, was pretty good at reading people. If either of them realized that there was going to be a robbery going on…

"Oh my God," Meg whispered.

Connie stared at her feet. "…So, let me get this straight. Quagmire, in an effort to distract Cassie from noticing anything suspicious, has unwittingly made her suspicious that something's going on?"

"Pretty much," Meg noted.

"I hate that guy," Connie grumbled. She looked at herself in the mirror, adjusting some horn-rimmed glasses and wearing a black, sleek wig, styled into a bob. She looked the part, thank God. Now she could focus on Meg's revelation.

"I've gotten used to him," Meg admitted.

"How?"

"I've known him since I was three. He's basically family."

"Aren't you lucky."

"Actually, he's helped me out of a lot of tough situations. Granted, he's weird as hell…" Meg admitted.

"Yeah, weird as hell. Not the terminology I'd use…"

Connie and Meg looked at each other.

"So… tomorrow's the big day," Connie murmured.

Meg smirked. "You're nervous, aren't you?"

"No, I just have the sudden urge to shit my pants," Connie countered sarcastically.

"Connie, this is gonna sound weird, but I'm glad we're friends."

Connie smiled covertly as she took off her black wig. "…Me too, Meg."

A/N: Well. This was an interesting chapter to write, for a number of reasons, the biggest one being Cassandra's long-ass flashback to a pretty depressing time. I didn't want to lighten that up at all, so the whole chapter took a very melancholy tone. It worked very well in Lois' section of the chapter; it took effort to make the tone transfer over to Connie and Meg, who, usually, are characterized by a light tone. I think I did okay.

A/N 2: Ander Arias has pointed out that he doesn't really see how Cassandra fits into the story yet. Her role, simply stated, can be characterized as "outsider looking in". Her role isn't really shrouded in mystery so much as detached from the main action. This chapter revealed that most of her motivation is driven by her desire for Quagmire, but she's still got a few tricks up her sleeve. She will have a payoff, I promise, Ander.

A/N 3: I really love this chapter, as evidenced by how much I'm writing about it, but I just want to point out that Samantha Buchem is Cassandra's mom, while Jeannette "Jean" Buchem is Cassandra's sister. Both are present in "The Chocolate Girl", but neither have appeared or been named in this story, so I thought I'd bring it up.

A/N 4: EDIT - 02/12/10 - I can't believe I didn't catch this. I replaced Elinor Dashwood with Marianne Dashwood, seeing as Elinor was ALWAYS IN LOVE WITH Edward Ferrars. And Sense and Sensibility is my favorite book! On the other hand, I now know how many of my readers are familiar with Victorian-era literature...

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy or Ocean's Eleven.


	17. Beautiful Emeralds

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #16: Beautiful Emeralds**

Lois stared at herself in the mirror of her room once more. There was no point in letting Cornfeathers think she was worried about something. Besides, Peter was too dumb to figure out a way to disrupt the fight. She'd just been so paranoid since the divorce. Her paranoia drove Quagmire to move, and she kicked out Brian out of fear.

Lois applied eyeshadow blankly, thinking about how much of a nutcase she'd become.

Leonard, in another part of the room, was talking on the phone, apparently to some big shot who didn't realize he needed to buy tickets to the fight night. His callous voice sent a shiver up Lois' spine. Leonard was different from Peter in many respects, but the biggest difference was Leonard's cold, calculating voice. Lois knew he wasn't emotionless, but, most of the time, he sounded heartless.

"Yes. No. No. Definitely not," Leonard said, watching Lois put on a necklace from the corner of his eye. Lois turned a delicate shade of pink, looking down at her beautiful backless red gown. It accentuated her curves without making her look trashy. She put on some ruby red lipstick, to match the shade of the dress, subtly eavesdropping.

"…Well then, tell Jasper that he'll have a better view of the fight from his television," Leonard responded coolly. "Surely he has HBO. …All right."

Leonard hung up the phone. Lois stared at herself in the mirror, looking very much like a porcelain doll. Lois felt Leonard's gaze on her bare backside.

"What are you thinking about?" Leonard asked.

Lois banished the suspicions and worries from her head. Nothing was going to happen. She had Leonard by her side. Everything would be fine.

"You," she responded.

oOoOo

Herbert, once again dressed as Lymon Zerga, stood by the valet station outside of the Grand Cherokee, waiting for his package to be delivered. Herbert still questioned why he needed to start the whole plan, but with Connie freaking out, Peter PNGed, and Quagmire not even remotely focused on the robbery, he wasn't going to bring it up. Besides, sometimes, confusion was a healthy part of life.

Herbert stared at the windows of a beautiful Lamborghini, looking at his own reflection in them. A valet went towards the yellow sports car, just as Herbert saw Leonard Cornfeather's reflection walking towards his reflection in the window. Herbert turned around, leaning on his cane.

"Hello, Mr. Cornfeathers," Herbert nodded.

"Good evening, Mr. Zerga," Leonard responded. "Forgive me for being blunt, but tonight is a busy night for me. Has your package arrived yet?"  
"It will be coming very soon," Herbert told him.

As if on cue, a white van drove up to the curb. A sharply dressed young blonde man – Herbert realized, with a smile, that they'd sent Chris to do this mission – got out of the passenger seat and went to unlock the back door, while a girl with straight, bleached blonde tresses and thin blue glasses – Herbert recognized Meg from her facial features – walked up to Herbert, extending a hand. Herbert shook it, noticing how mature Meg looked when she wore pantsuits.

"Mr. Zerga, a pleasure," she said in a gravelly voice. Meg must've learned a lot about the art of disguise from Connie.

"As always, Gabrielle," Herbert replied. Chris pulled a suitcase out of the back of the van and locked it, walking over to the small gathering.

"A gift from Mr. McFarlane," Chris informed Herbert. Herbert smiled at Chris, who smiled back. Leonard was too busy staring at the suitcase to notice. Herbert took the suitcase.

"Thank you, Frederick," Herbert said to Chris. Herbert then turned to Leonard. "Whenever you are ready, Mr. Cornfeathers."

Leonard nodded, and the small entourage entered the casino. The place was positively bustling with activity. Herbert expected as much – it was, after all, a fight night. He noticed a very fat someone playing roulette, but didn't let it bother him. Peter managed to come through after all. He also noticed Frank dealing blackjack to a group of snobby, twenty-something socialites. Frank, jovial as ever, busted, commenting on the house's terrible luck. Leonard snickered a bit as he passed Frank. The two exchanged glances, and Frank gave a little bow in acknowledgement to his employer.

Chris and Meg, disguised as Frederick and Gabrielle, continued to flank Herbert as he walked. The metal briefcase hung from a set of handcuffs, attached to Herbert's arm. Leonard directed them across the casino floor, through tables and slot machines and throngs of people.

One of the people, that stupid blonde boy who kept sneaking into the Grand Cherokee, looked up as the four passed. He noticed Meg immediately.

"Hey, don't you work here?" Zack Murdock asked her, very loudly and pointedly. The four turned to stare at him. Leonard's eyebrow rose quizzically. Meg stared at the boy angrily, noticing his bloodshot eyes.

"Aren't you quite the high, underage teenager?" she retorted in a flawless French accent. Chris beckoned to two security guards nearby, who dragged Zack off instantly. Leonard's face slipped back into a mask of easiness.

"Thank you," Leonard murmured to Meg. "We've had a myriad of problems with that one…"

"It is nothing," Meg countered. "I do not appreciate being mistaken for plebian women."

The four of them continued to walk. Herbert would've breathed a sigh of relief, but he was deathly afraid that any more slip-ups, like that issue with Zack, would ruin the plan.

Leonard walked up to a security door that Meg recognized as security door 12A. Before pressing any access code buttons, he turned to the two guards.

"Ms. Gabrielle, Mr. Frederick. I'm afraid that this is where you must leave your employer," Leonard informed them. "It is not my policy to have outside security know too much about… inside security."

"Perfectly understandable, sir," Chris responded.

"Mr. Zerga, we shall wait for you at the little Italian restaurant by the Wynn Boston," Meg informed him. The two bowed to Leonard before walking off.

Halfway through the casino, Chris sighed deeply.

"God, that blonde kid could've gotten us killed," Chris muttered.

"Tell me about it," Meg said, not dropping her deep French accent. She sighed. "I'm stuck."

"Stuck?"

"…I can't stop using my accent."

"Sucks for you?" Chris offered confusedly.

"…I guess so."

qQqQq

Cassandra stood by the craps table, clicking her silver heels irritably against the carpeted ground. This was where Quagmire said to meet him. She should've known he'd be a bit late… he had a penchant for it.

_"Hey, Quagmire, Lois is having a dinner party," Peter told Quagmire early in the day. Quagmire was mowing his lawn; Peter was washing his car._

_ "Heh. Have fun with that," Quagmire responded._

_ "Wanna come? It's at seven tonight."_

_ "Of course!"_

_ Later in the evening, Lois was putting the finishing touches on a meatloaf dish when the doorbell rang. She looked at the clock. 7:02 pm. She walked to the front door and opened it to see Quagmire, face white as a sheet._

_ "I am SO SORRY," Quagmire said in horror. _

Cassandra looked down at her attire: a midnight blue scoop-necked dress. She hoped she looked pretty. No one she asked ever gave her a straight answer. When she showed Meg during break, Meg said she looked fine and ran off to baby-sit Stewie. She was doing that a lot lately. Then Cassandra tried to ask Frank, but Paddy Tanninger had him wrapped up in a conversation about the amount of hours he was working.

Cassandra could only hope she was beautiful enough to be more than a one-night stand.

"Hey you."  
Cassandra whirled around happily, but saw Ryan instead of Quagmire. She frowned immediately.

"Hello Ryan," Cassandra responded.

"Why're you all dolled up? You even put your hair in pincurls," Ryan asked in what he must've thought was a sultry voice. Cassandra's eye twitched.

"I'm going to the fight," she responded.

"Oh… hoping to get noticed on camera, then?" Ryan asked. "You know, I can try to get tonight off… and maybe accompany you."  
"I already have a date," Cassandra spat

"Let's hope he appreciates staring at your curves as much as I do," Ryan responded.

"That was totally uncalled for," she muttered, her fists clenching. "And you better leave before my date catches you clumsily hitting on me."

"What's the worst he could do?" Ryan wondered.

A fist smashed into the side of Ryan's face. He fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Cassandra stared at him for a little bit, too elated to look at who punched the whiny little perv.

"That's quite the evil smile on your face," another voice said sweetly in her ear. Cassandra looked up. Quagmire was staring at Ryan's crumpled-up body, one hand on his hips, the other still in a fist. Cassandra turned red. No one had ever protected her from an irritating boy before. She'd spent years learning how to hide her emotions, but her skills were failing her at this point.

"You have no idea how badly I wanted that to happen," Cassandra responded. She stood in front of Quagmire. "So. Glen. How are you?"

"Fine," he responded. He looked sharp, as always, in a tailored black suit and blue button-down shirt underneath. "You look stunning. Except for the whole gooey-eyed love-stare, Bella."

Cassandra's eyes narrowed. "Ryan was a fellow employee. I wasn't allowed to punch him. Call me Bella again and I'll sock you in the nuts."  
"There's the Cassandra I know," Quagmire chirped happily. "C'mon, let's head to the fight."

cCcCc

Leonard put the silver suitcase on a table inside a security room. The walls were a blinding white color, and Herbert had to narrow his eyes to avoid being blinded. Bright halogen lights shone down on both the casino owner and the fake high roller.

"Sorry about this, but you understand," Leonard apologized needlessly. "I have to make sure that nothing illegal is being put in my vault."

"Of course," Herbert responded. He watched as Leonard unlatched the suitcase and opened it. Inside, in form-fitted foam, were four gigantic emeralds, expertly cut and glittering in the lamp light. Leonard lifted the foam, and the emeralds, out of the suitcase. There was nothing underneath them. Setting the foam aside, Leonard took a handheld metal detector out of a nearby shelving unit and began to run it along the undercarriage of the suitcase.

"You probably think I'm paranoid," Leonard snickered.

"You have every reason to be cautious," Herbert responded gently.

Leonard smirked. "Mr. Tanninger is right. You're a very calming presence."

"Just the way I was raised, I guess," Herbert responded.

Leonard put the suitcase back together. "All right. Now, you can't accompany this down to the vault. But you can watch it on my security monitors. These are my terms. Do you accept them?"

"I have no choice, and I trust your judgment," Herbert responded.

From deep within the bowels of the suite that the eleven merry gangsters occupied, Neil laughed maniacally as he stared at the images being fed to him. He plugged in a microphone and snapped an earpiece into his ear. Chris jumped into a chair by his side.

"All right, bitches, it's on," Neil said with a cackle.

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! A little present from me to you: the start of the heist.

A/N 2: Not a whole lot of jokes here, I know, but this is another transitional chapter. Once chapter 17 is beta-ed, you'll get a lot more jokes and craziness.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy or Ocean's Eleven.


	18. If You Just Realized

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #17: If You Just Realized**

As soon as Connie's earpiece crackled to life, she knew exactly what to do. In about three minutes, Leonard Cornfeathers would be walking across the western carpet towards Paddy Tanninger's offices. She needed to intercept him there. She stepped out of the sunny-looking Starbucks, feeling refreshed after spending two hours drinking tea and doodling a picture of Adele, dressed in her disguise. She headed towards the exact place she needed to be, aware that if she messed up, the whole plan was screwed.

"Hey Amber. You all right?" Chris' voice asked.

"I'm fine, dumbass," Connie responded.

"Hey. My codename is Tezuka," Chris whined.

Connie rolled her eyes. What was the point in insulting someone if they didn't even get it?

"Amber. Walker just entered the theater. Ganondorf is set to be placed in a few minutes. And please, for the love of God, don't go anywhere near Sector Six," Neil said.

Connie ran this information through her head. Herbert was in the monitor room, and Leonard Cornfeathers was coming her way. But avoiding the slot machines?

"Why shouldn't I go to Sector Six?" Connie whispered.

"I'm assuming you don't want to see Charlie Sheen and Marion Cotillard making out."

The mental image almost made Connie dry heave. Quagmire and Cassandra playing tongue hockey. How special.

"Point taken. Amber out," Connie announced, staring around the corner. Any second now…

fFfFf

Brian and Stewie were pushing a cash cart through the southern area of the Grand Cherokee, having been roused by Neil's rather irritating nerd call. They were both dressed as room service employees, and no one looked twice as they walked through the halls.

"Isn't this weird?" Stewie mused as they walked through the hallway.

"Isn't what weird?" Brian responded.

"No one thinks it's weird that a dog and a toddler are room service employees," Stewie noted. "I love living in Quahog."

"I gotta think there's a town somewhere else where people don't mind babies talking and weird things happening…"

_In Kong Studios, on a large hilltop over a stinking landfill, a young Japanese teenager stared over the mess and decay before her. Her purple hair flitted behind her in the wind, bringing with it the stench of zombies and death._

_ "The false icons are rising…" she murmured. She looked behind her. Nothing. "I must stop this…"_

_ The door to the studios slammed open behind her, revealing a gaunt, black-haired man, swigging vodka from a paper-bagged container as he grinned._

_ "Hey Noodle!" he called._

_ "You should stop drinking, Murdoc," she muttered._

_ "Oh, I'm only drinking because Russell is making some sort of taxidermy monster out of zombies," Murdoc responded, playing with the inverted cross around his neck. _

_ Noodle's face turned green. "Taxidermy zombie monsters?"_

_ "And Face-ache managed to get his foot stuck in the loo," Murdoc finished._

_ Noodle seized the bottle from Murdoc and took a deep drink._

"What a world that must be," Stewie thought wistfully. The two of them reached the elevator, staring up at it. Stewie grinned at Brian.

"So, got the card key?" Stewie smirked.

Brian stared at him. "You're supposed to have it."

Stewie blinked confusedly. "I thought you had it."

"I don't have it. I left it on the counter for you to take."

"You're telling me that YOU DON'T HAVE THE DAMN KEY?!"

"Stop SCREAMING! It's embarrassing enough without you screaming!"

"We're going to LOSE our JOBS because of you!"

Just as Stewie and Brian predicted, an employee wandered up to them, confused about the noise.

"What's going on?" she asked. Brian was shocked to realize that it was Jillian, his ex-girlfriend. She was wearing a managerial uniform and high stiletto heels. Stewie realized that her heels were almost as long as his legs. There was no way she was going to believe they were employees. She actually knew them both, to boot!

"We… uh…" Brian was at a loss for words. "We lost our key card. We're supposed to be bringing this to the vault. It's Mr. Cornfeathers' things."

Jillian cocked her head, blonde hair spilling over her shoulder. Brian knew it was a bad time to be thinking about how hot Jillian was, but he couldn't help himself. Stewie held onto the cash cart tightly, his knuckles turning a bright white.

"Key card?" she repeated.

Brian pursed his lips. "Yeah. The thing you have to slide through the security lock."  
"Security lock?" Jillian echoed.

Brian felt a vein pulse in his temple. Stewie's knuckles turned fluorescent white.

"We can't open the door," Brian said.

"Oh. Why didn't you say so, silly employee?" Jillian cooed, swiping her key card through the security lock. The door swung open instantly. "I could've used the slider sooner then!"

"The SLIDER?!" Stewie exclaimed before Brian clamped a paw over his mouth.

"Thank you very much, ma'am," Brian said hurriedly before the two of them ran through the door, into the hallway. The door shut behind them.

"Dear God," Stewie muttered. "I can't believe you were with that for A YEAR."

"Shut up, Stewie," Brian responded harshly.

"You could've done so much better," Stewie continued.

"Oh yeah? What would you have done?"

"Not done a girl?"

"What?"

"Not done a git?" Stewie covered.

Brian wasn't that stupid. He heard Stewie's first option. The pathetic thing was, the first option didn't sound all that bad.

_You know, if I could find a halfway decent guy, it wouldn't be bad at all, _Brian thought. _Or a halfway decent girl…I think I'm just desperate at this point._

"Well, at my age, you get a little desperate," Brian said, basically spitting out his original thought.

"You know, there've been willing people by you the whole time," Stewie commented. "Good people. Perfect people."

"Lois rejected me after the divorce and Quagmire's banging Cassandra," Brian replied bitterly, totally missing Stewie's veiled suggestion.

Stewie lowered his eyes. For a liberally educated canine genius, Brian sure didn't pick up on much. His face turned a light shade of pink.

"And I'm sorry about that," Stewie murmured, twiddling his thumbs as Brian pushed the cash cart.

"It's not your fault," Brian retorted. "You can be so weird sometimes."

Stewie smiled weakly. "Weird. Right. Hey, what room are we looking for again?"

"Uh… Room 777."

"Isn't that the number for Heaven?"

"Does this LOOK like Heaven to you?"

_Meanwhile, in a dilapidated house, an anorexic-looking twenty-something male sneezed. He stared at the blood-soaked wall in front of him, not noticing the mutated Pillsbury Doughboy walking towards him._

_ "You know what that means, don't you, Nny?" it asked._

_ "Yeah, Mr. Eff," Nny responded coldly. "Someone is taking my dialogue again."_

_ In the corner, the corpse of Dib began to rot._

_ "That little shit-spawn will pay," Nny concluded as he grabbed a scythe._

"Not particularly. Maybe if they painted the walls some color besides taupe…" Stewie mused. "Oh look, 777. Now, you actually _have_ the key card, right?"

Brian pulled it out of some invisible compartment in his collar. "Got it right here."

Brian handed the card to Stewie, who swiped it through the security lock. The door opened to reveal Chris and Neil at the computer, and Joe sitting around, bored, dressed in the same uniforms as Stewie and Brian. As soon as they entered, Joe did a wheelie with his wheelchair.

"FINALLY!" Joe screamed.

Brian shushed him quickly as they entered the room. "Joe, you know what to do from here, right?"

Joe nodded. Neil watched their progress quickly: Stewie stripped his disguise off to reveal skintight black pants and a black tank top; Brian opened up the top of the cash cart; Stewie jumped in.

"Need anything? A magazine, or Rupert?" Brian offered.

Stewie flipped him off in response. Brian closed the lid on the cash cart quickly.

"Neil, was our movement -?" Brian began to ask.

"Yep, I've fed the loop through the security cameras," Neil informed them. "Wheels, Bond, get going. You need to get that cash cart to the security elevator guards in a minute-twenty."

Brian and Joe gripped the cash cart, with Stewie lounging inside, and left the room, trooping quickly down the hall.

sSsSs

Connie continued to read the book in her hand, bored out of her skull. She'd also been humming a whole bunch of pop songs as she read. It had only been about four minutes, but she wasn't very good with music. She only knew a handful of song choruses, mostly the repetitive ones, like "Smooth Criminal" or "Milkshake". And that one song about disco sticks. She silently cursed. She'd never liked Lady Gaga, anyway, but Meg listened to her constantly in the suite.

Her earpiece crackled to life.

"Amber, you ready?"

Connie never thought she'd want to hear Chris' voice droning in her ear, but his question gave her focus.

"Ready as I'll ever be," Connie responded.

"Good," Neil said, "because Cornfeathers is coming your way."

Connie gulped and said nothing more, her eyes returning to her book. It was one of her all-time favorites, despite its patently ridiculous nature. Everyone else had laughed at her, but she would continue to defend _Shaman King_ as the greatest novel series of all time. Despite the fact that it was a manga.

_There's no time to be thinking about that!_ Connie thought angrily, flipping a page. Her eyes scanned the surrounding area, just as Cornfeathers entered her line of sight. Connie closed her book.

"Mr. Cornfeathers, if I could have a word," Connie called to him. Leonard turned and, noticing the briefcase and the officious look on her face, walked towards her. The man was ugly as sin – Connie couldn't help but wonder what Lois saw in him.

_Money,_ Connie reminded herself. _Lois is like you used to be, drifter. And I'm like the old Lois, helping Peter with a sigh and an angry tone._

Leonard reached Connie's side, at which point she drew out the piece de resistance – her Massachusetts Gaming Commission license.

_"What makes you think I can get a fake MGC license?" McLovin muttered, looking into Connie's steely eyes._

_ "You did a fabulous job with the Hawaii license," Connie admitted grudgingly. She handed McLovin a wad of cash in a brown envelope. "And my employer would like to keep you in the fold."_

_ McLovin stared at the money within, totally awed by it. "All right, m'dear, if it's an NGC license you want, it's one you'll get."_

_ Connie smirked. The kid was irritating as hell, but he was growing on her._

"I'm Emmeline Thompson, with the Massachusetts Gaming Commission," Connie introduced herself, putting her license away and shaking Leonard's hand. "I hate to bother you on such an auspicious occasion, but there's an issue that needs to be addressed."

Leonard looked shocked for a second or two before he smiled warmly. "Well, I always make time for the MGC."

"Thank you very much, sir," Connie said emotionlessly as they began to stride across the casino floor.

"How long have you been with the MGC, ma'am?" Leonard asked.

"Please, call me Emmeline," Connie corrected. "And I'm relatively new. Only eighteen months on the job."

Connie could tell that Leonard was a bit suspicious of the female agent. Whether it was because of sexism, or because he just didn't believe her story, Connie couldn't be sure.

"So… I'm guessing you see Adam West a lot?"

Connie had only a split second to think. She knew Adam West had been the commissioner for the MGC, but seemed to recall…

"Well, not since he died, sir," Connie replied. This reply seemed to keep Leonard's suspicions at bay. Connie would've breathed a sigh of relief, but that would be highly unprofessional. And suspicious.

"Right," Leonard said shakily. He walked in front of Connie, and she couldn't help but stifle a grin. Today was going a lot better than expected.

A/N: Ah, the Stewie/Brian one-sided hint. They're not going to get together or get close to getting together, for all you people who are deathly afraid of men-slash. Since I know I'll get asked this, the logic behind the Stewie/Brian hint came from the fact that I think it's very plausible for Stewie to expect a relationship from Brian. It is completely idiotic, in a context such as my story, that Brian would EVER view Stewie as a lover. Just a bit of angst for Stewie to mull over in his head.

A/N 2: There's a lot of stuff in this chapter I like, but probably my favorite flashback ever is in this chapter: the one to Johnny the Homicidal Maniac. Obscure comix reference!

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy or Ocean's Eleven.


	19. A Brief Shining Moment

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #18: A Brief Shining Moment**

Connie stopped a few feet away from the blackjack table Frank sat at. She mentally collected herself as best she could, reminding herself that this part of the plan was integral. If she messed up, everything would fail. And, much as she'd hated the compatriots she'd thrown herself in with, she didn't want to get them arrested.

Maybe she didn't hate them as much as she said.

"Frank Catton?" Connie called as she approached the near-empty blackjack table. Frank looked up at her, the picture of innocence. Connie couldn't believe how calm he was being. Connie showed her fake badge.

"Emmeline Thompson, MGC," Connie informed him. "If you could come with us Mr. Catton… or should I say, Mr. Brown?"

Leonard raised an eyebrow.

"What is this about?" Frank asked suspiciously. Leonard stepped in quickly, noting the look of detachment on Connie's face.

"We should talk about this somewhere else," Leonard informed Connie. "Ms. Emmeline, Mr. Catton, please follow me."

Frank stood from the table, putting his away placard up on the desk. Connie would've smirked at him, but she didn't want to risk blowing anything. After all, they were finally getting off of the floor…

…under the watchful eye of Peter, from the bar.

jJjJj

Lois stood behind Peter, who was staring off into space.

"It won't be long until they find you, Peter," Lois informed him, arms crossed over the ample bodice of her red gown. Peter was dressed in a simple button-down shirt and slacks, as if he'd just come from some mindless cubicle job.

_Dwight Schrute shivered in a supply closet, wearing an oversized Oxford shirt and humongous green pants._

_ "Who the HELL stole my clothes?!" Dwight screamed to no one in particular._

"Lois –"

"The answer's still NO," Lois cut him off.

"Lois, listen to me –" Peter tried again, putting his drink down on the bar.

"I called security as soon as I saw you," Lois explained. She looked into Peter's wide, wandering eyes. "You're up to something. I know it. Cassandra, Megan, they know it too. Don't say you came here for me – you're going to do something stupid, something that's going to get you even further in debt –"

"Lois –"

"You aren't going to win me back, Peter, not now, not ever!" Lois screeched. "I'm done dealing with your insanity and your pointless gags and constant need to endanger everyone around you –"

"I came to say goodbye, all right, Lois?!" Peter finally shouted over her complaints. Lois froze, her left hand subconsciously trailing to her bare ring finger. The silence enveloped her completely. She didn't expect him to say that. It wasn't like Peter to give up that easily.

"Oh," she managed to murmur. "…Well… good-bye, then."

"Good-bye," Peter said with a dorky smile. "Have fun."

At that moment, two security guards, each dressed like old-style strongmen, came up behind Peter.

"Mr. Griffin?" one said.

Peter turned around, face completely blank again. "I suppose you're taking me to see Mr. Cornfeathers."

"Something like that," the other guard responded. Peter followed them languidly, and Lois couldn't help but stare at his retreating back, wondering if this was how the others felt when she shut herself off.

_"I'm going to keep calling you Mrs. Griffin," Cassandra said defiantly as she strode out of the former Griffin house. Her face was splotchy and red, no doubt from another crying jag with Meg, and a large canvas bag was slung over her shoulder. Her car was stuffed to the brim with her crap._

_ Lois, arms crossed, stood in the doorway. "Why are you so stubborn? You're like the daughter I never wanted."_

_ "You already have the daughter you never wanted," Cassandra retorted bitterly, not turning to face her. "…I'll never forgive you for this, you know."_

_ "What did I do?"_

_ "…You don't even see what you've done," Cassandra murmured. "…None of us are ever going to be together again because of this. Everyone's taken sides. And…" Cassandra broke off. "Forgive me. I forgot you don't care."_

_ And she walked off, leaving Lois to muse on the idea that she'd never see any of her old friends._

oOoOo

The room that Leonard took Connie and Frank to was blindingly white and filled with large halogen lamps. It was slightly like being trapped on the sun. Connie narrowed her eyes just so she could see. Leonard didn't seem to have a problem with the surroundings, for some reason.

Frank took a seat. Leonard didn't, and Connie followed Leonard's lead.

"…Thank you for cooperating, Mr. Catton. Or should I say, Cleveland Brown?" Connie said. Leonard was stony-faced, as was Frank. Connie retrieved a mug shot from her briefcase.

"That IS you, isn't it? Cleveland Brown, former deli owner, charged with aggravated assault shortly after the close of your business?" Connie half-questioned, half-expounded. Leonard raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Frank, who, to no one's shock, really was Cleveland, glared at Connie, completely silent.

"Your silence suggests that this is the truth," Connie continued. She turned to Leonard, frowning slightly. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, especially on a night like tonight, but you're employing an ex-convict. And MGC rules state –"

"I know what they state," Leonard responded testily. Connie could tell that this news had shaken him a bit, but not enough to set him off.

"Well, then I would recommend –"

"God-damn cracker bitch," Cleveland muttered.

Connie turned around quickly, eyes wide with shock. "…Excuse me?"

"You heard me. A black man can't earn a decent wage in this state anymore?" Cleveland asked angrily, hands folded on the table, knuckles turning white. Connie had to just keep her cool.

_It's all an act, _she kept repeating in her head. _It's all an act, it's all an act…_

"That has nothing to do with this…" Connie tried to reason with him.

"And some pansy-ass honky woman's gotta kick me out on the street!" Cleveland ranted.

"Honky, that's racist…" Connie murmured, a bit taken aback.

"Might as well call the game whitejack!"

"I resent the implication that race has anything to do with this. Your criminal record speaks for itself," Connie said clearly before turning to Leonard, exasperated. "You and I both know, Mr. Cornfeathers, that the MGC fully supports the hiring of colored –"

Cleveland screamed and lunged at Connie, who was thrown backwards into Leonard. In that one motion, Connie was able to swipe something very small out of Cornfeathers' pocket – the vault codes. Connie pocketed it as she flipped backwards onto the wall, screaming in fear at Cleveland. Leonard pushed Cleveland off of both himself and the girl, now extremely irritated.

"Mr. Catton – Mr. Brown – whoever you are – get your things from your locker and get out. Your employment is terminated," Leonard glowered. "Security will help you with this." He turned to Connie, who looked shaken but otherwise fine. "I can escort you to the casino floor, if you'd like me to, Ms. Emmeline."

Connie clutched her stomach nervously, smiling weakly. "That would be lovely."

The two exited the room, Connie flush from what Leonard thought was fear. That was far from true. The excitement of pick-pocketing always got to Connie, one way or another. As they walked down the hall, Connie noticed Leonard looking at his watch, increasing his pace rapidly. Connie was struggling to keep up with the hotel manager. A few minutes of frenetic jogging was more than enough for Connie to enact the next part of the plan: trigger the vault.

"Oh my God," Connie muttered.

Leonard paused and looked at her as she fumbled around with her pockets.

"…What?" Leonard finally asked.

Connie looked up and blushed embarrassedly. "Oh, it's so dumb… I left my cell phone in the interrogation room."

Leonard looked from Connie to his watch, and then back to Connie.

"You know your way back?" Leonard asked.

"…I think so," Connie responded.

"Good enough," Leonard mumbled to himself before striding off.

Connie watched his retreating back for a few seconds before backtracking. Hopefully none of the cameras caught the wicked grin forming on her face.

iIiIi

Peter stood in a room, hands folded in front of him, staring at the absolutely boring décor in front of him. The room was completely gray, with nothing more than a gray metal table to break up the monotony. Peter, nonetheless, inspected the room thoroughly with his eyes before moving around in it, to take in the majesty of boring gray walls.

"…How much longer is Cornfeathers gonna be?" Peter shouted.

No answer. Peter sighed before sitting on the ground.

"Face it, Peter, this sucks," he said to himself. "The ends will justify the means, but right now, this is worse than the time I joined that organized crime syndicate."

_A smoke bomb went off in the crowded veterinary-type hospital, causing everyone in the building to start coughing uncontrollably. One teen, a black-haired boy with a red-and-white cap, opened an eye, while his traveling companions, a girl with her head done in a side ponytail and a stoic-looking tan guy, let out gasps of exasperation._

_ "You again!" the boy with the hat called._

_ A feminine cackle answered the boy, and shadows became visible from within the smoke._

_ "Prepare for trouble!" the female voice called, as a woman with spiraling pink hair emerged from the smoke. _

_ "Yes, and make it double!" a lilting male voice responded, walking out from the smoke, purple hair aflutter. An older red-head, directly behind the black-haired boy, swooned when he appeared, writing furiously in a notepad to hide this transgression._

_ "To protect the world from devastation!" the woman continued._

_ "To unite all peoples within our nation!" the pretty-boy added._

_ "To denounce the evils of truth and love!"  
"To extend our reach to the stars above!"_

_ "Jessie!" The pink-haired woman opened a fan and covered part of her face, glittering purple eyes catching the light._

_ "James!" The purple-haired man pulled out a red rose and threw it into the room. It landed in the writing woman's lap, and she promptly fainted._

_ "Team Rocket! Blast off at the speed of light!" Jessie finished off._

_ "Surrender now, or prepare to fight!" James threatened._

_ Out of nowhere, a giant fat guy fell from the ceiling to land in front of Jessie and James. The floor cracked beneath him._

_ "PETERMON! That's RIGHT!" Peter shouted._

The door opened, taking Peter out of his reverie. The same two very large strongmen who'd detained Peter entered the room, showing off their muscles, clearly visible from underneath olden-style weight-lifting outfits.

Peter stood up, and one of them punched him in the face. Peter screamed.

"NO! NO!" Peter shouted before lowering his voice considerably. "That's not part of the plan!"

The strongman backed off and sighed. "Very sorry, my old chap. Forgot my place for a second there."

"Best not do that again," the other strongman warned.

Peter got up and dusted himself off, fingering his cheek. No blood. Good. Peter smirked at the two of them.

"It's been a while," Peter said. "How've you guys been doing?"

"All right," one replied.

"My wife is pregnant again," the other replied.

"Boy or girl?" Peter wondered as he moved a nearby chair below a vent in the ceiling.

"Girl. The wife and I have no idea what to name the baby," the strongman responded dejectedly. Peter stood up on the chair and pulled a screwdriver out of his underwear, using it to dismantle the vent.

"What about Reina?" Peter offered as he labored over the vent.

"It just does not seem to fit," the other strongman murmured. "I mean, his other child's name is Sebastian."

"I see your point," Peter muttered, the vent hanging from one screw. "Almost… there." Peter took the vent off of the ceiling, revealing a small vertical incline and then miles of horizontal vent to traverse. "Well, I'm off. You know what to do."

"Indeed Peter," one strongman nodded. Peter jumped into the vent and disappeared, after much effort.

A/N: Because someone is going to COMPLETELY miss the point of the Connie/Frank interaction, it's summarized very easily by Connie's big line: It's all an act. Not to mention that the scene is pretty much taken, word for word, from the film itself. (Except for Connie's "…that's racist…", which is from "Role Models".)

A/N 2: How Peter fit into Dwight's clothes, I may never know.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy or Ocean's Eleven. Woot.


	20. Tonight's Gonna Be A Good, Good Night

**Griffin's Eleven**

**Hand #19: Tonight's Gonna Be A Good, Good Night**

Herbert stood in the bowels of the central surveillance room of the Grand Cherokee, completely amazed.

The room was completely bedecked in airbrushed silver appliances and electronics, from the massive server farms pressed against the walls to the sleek iMacs on shining metallic desks. The only splotches of differentiating color were the blue uniforms on the security officers' backs.

One officer beckoned for Herbert, who hobbled over, cane shaking. Herbert winced. He wasn't doing too well without his walker. The cane just wasn't giving him the support he needed.

_Don't fail on me now, legs._

"See that, Mr. Zerga?" the officer said, pointing at a screen.

Herbert leaned in close. He saw a handicapped man wheeling a cart – with a silver briefcase on it – into an elevator, where he left it. Zerga saw the man use a key card to get the elevator started, then exited the elevator, never to be seen again.

"Yes," Herbert responded. "Is that it?"

"Yep," the man responded. Herbert noticed the tag on his shirt. His name was Mattias Reischterfal. Why that name sounded familiar, Herbert wasn't sure.

"So, what happens after that cart goes down the elevator?" Herbert wondered. He trembled a little.

Mattias raised an eyebrow at the little tremor, but continued speaking. "Then it'll go into the vault, where –"

Herbert collapsed.

While Mattias rushed to the phone on the other side of the room, and the other security officers ran over to Herbert's side, the images on the iMacs flickered, and the image of a blonde, impeccably tailored woman getting into the second of two security elevators erased itself from the monitors, replaced with emptiness.

oOoOo

Lois couldn't believe it.

Not in a million years did she WANT to believe it.

Leonard turned his head in the same direction as Lois'. As he sat down in the ringside seats, he smirked, turning his head back.

"That's the best looking hooker I've ever seen him snatch up," Leonard said snidely, staring up at the giant boxing ring that had been erected in the center of the Grand Cherokee's massive theater-in-the-round. Seats were filling up, and that's all Leonard cared about.

Lois knew better than her beau, and quickly whipped around, astonished, as Glen Quagmire and Cassandra Buchem sat down behind them. Lois glanced at the seats around them. She noticed Robert Pattinson eyeing her. Lois afforded herself some brief satisfaction before she noticed that everyone _else_ in her immediate surroundings was looking at Cassandra.

Lois tried to calm herself, but realized that she was far from above petty jealousy. Cassandra looked like she was having the time of her life. Lois could sense her giddiness, her confidence… Lois couldn't help but look back at her again.

She was hearing snatches of conversation between Quagmire, an older man, and Cassandra. He did hear the older man call Cassandra absolutely beautiful. Cassandra tittered.

"Thanks, she's my girlfriend," Quagmire responded.

Lois whipped back around.

_Girlfriend._

Leonard was busy schmoozing with some very rich ticket-holders, who looked thrilled to be at the fight. Lois sighed, hands folded in her lap. She heard the familiar creak of seats behind her, and knew Cassandra and Quagmire had sat back down. She busied herself with listening to their conversation.

"This is so crazy… I seriously can't get over this, Glen."

"You're sick?"

"…Oh God, you're so dumb sometimes."

Every word sent pangs through Lois' body.

"Dumb?"

"I meant THIS. Us."

Lois died a little inside.

_"I seriously can't get over this, Peter!"_

_ Somehow Peter had managed to get a whole 45__th__ birthday party together for Lois, and no one was dead. Everyone crowded the Griffin's house, so Lois and Peter were sitting on the back porch, away from the craziness and party-going. Lois was buzzed pretty good, but she could still appreciate the immense effort it must've taken to get everyone together. Not to mention the fun little "party memories" she'd been a part of – Bonnie getting completely wasted and dancing with Brian, Cassandra falling asleep and falling clean into Quagmire's lap, Meg and Chris' videography skills…_

_ Peter, with a foaming mug of beer in his hand and his free arm around Lois' waist, looked confused._

_ "You're sick?"_

_ "…God, you're so DUMB sometimes."_

"Fun, isn't it? Being with me."

"That's totally humble of you."

Quagmire laughed. "Oh, Cassie. I would've thought you'd expect this by now."  
Lois had never heard Quagmire use that tone of voice before. She felt like she was intruding into their world. She'd never felt like that before. Usually, it was others intruding into her world with Peter. Lois tried not to listen, but it was too late.

"You know you love me," Quagmire murmured into Cassandra's pretty little ear. Lois heard Peter's voice instead.

aAaAa

Connie was changing in an elevator.

Strange, how her life had gone full-tilt bozo in the past month or so, being a part of this heist. Before she'd run away, she'd never done so much as taken off her shirt in a changing room. (Made clothes shopping a bitch, but…) Now she was changing in elevators, gas station bathrooms, within ten feet of Quagmire…

As she put on a black jumpsuit, she heard some clacking noises. She looked up at the ceiling of the elevator and, seeing nothing, went back to pulling the jumpsuit over her lithe body.

A tile of the elevator crashed to the ground. Connie screamed, looking up. She abruptly stopped, instead choking out random syllables.

"…Wha -? Ah -?"

Peter was staring down at her.

"Hey Connie!" Peter greeted stupidly.

Connie quickly pulled up the top of her jumpsuit and zipped it, glaring at Peter. "What the HELL are you doing here? I thought you'd been PNGed!"

"Well, yeah, I was person not graded," Peter replied erroneously, "but Quagmire, Brian, and I worked something out."

Connie facepalmed.

"Why am I not surprised…?" Connie muttered, thinking about all the ways she could kill Quagmire when all was said and done. She put her flats back on again as Peter lowered himself into the elevator.

"The video feed just went through," Peter told her. "They can't see us coming." Peter paused before giggling. "Coming."

"If you're not going to tell me anything of value, PLEASE… please… just don't talk." Connie wiped her palms together nervously. Now… to wait.

bBbBb

Meg and Chris stared at the other Astrovan, stationed fifty feet away from them. Joe sat nearby, face blank, holding a large button with an infrared sensor attached to it. Meg looked ready to heave, while it appeared Chris had already crapped his pants.

"…Are you two ready for this?" Joe asked monotonously.

"…No?" Chris offered.

Meg said nothing, thinking of how something like this probably killed Kevin.

"Peter… Chris isn't ready," Joe said into his earpiece. Joe waited for a few seconds before turning to Chris. "Congrats, now you get to press the button." Joe shoved the button into Chris' hands. Chris panicked, eyes darting around furiously.

"But _I don't wanna kill the Bostonians! I LIKE THE CELTICS!"_ Chris whined. His nasally complaints dislodged Meg from her brooding, and, with one swift movement, she grabbed the button and pressed it. The doors to the van opened, revealing the pinch, sitting flat on the ground. It began to glow an eerie shade of yellow, and a humming noise reached the trio's ears. The humming grew to a fever pitch – Meg dropped the button and covered her ears, while Chris ran around screaming – Joe stared blankly at the pinch, a small smile growing on his face –

ZAP.

The pinch jumped, and all around, darkness overtook the light. Meg looked up, noticing long-lost stars coming out of their slumber, greeting Boston as if for the first time.

Joe screamed, and Meg couldn't help but grin.

Chris could.

"GUYS! GUYS! I've FALLEN and I can't GET UP!" he whined.

sSsSs

Darkness.

Lois closed her eyes, and opened them. No difference. She felt Leonard move away from her. A strange thing to happen just after the start of the fight. Everything had blacked out. A strange voice behind her suggested power failure. The strained tones of Pattinson said something about the Dark Lord, and a thump was heard shortly thereafter. A referee in the ring was screaming. All around her, the noises began to combine into a din.

After about thirty seconds, the lights came back on – and all was chaos.

The two fighters in the ring were trying to beat each other up (still), and all three of the refs were doing their damndest to stop the brawl. People were screaming at each other. Lois noticed a man discreetly separating from another man across the way.

She heard a snickering, and turned around.

Cassandra was staring, confused and fearful, at Quagmire, who was laughing, reveling in the mayhem.

Lois' eyes widened.

_This is not good._

A/N: Yeah, it's been a while. College just got to be very hectic, and I switched majors and careers – kind of hard to be creative when your personal life is in upheaval. In any case, I hope everyone enjoys the return of Griffin's Eleven, and it should be completed this year.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Family Guy or Ocean's Eleven.


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